Laemmle   Donation 


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15he 

TECHNIQUE 


OF  THE 


PHOTOPLAY 


SECOND  EDITION 


BY 
EPES  WINTHROP  SARGENT 


PUBLISHED  BY 

THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WORLD 

17  MADISON  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK  CITY 


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Copyright  in  the  United  States,  1913 
Copyright  in  Great  Britain,  1913 
Copyright  in  Canada,  1913 

by 

Chalmers  Publishing  Company 
New  York 


All  Rights  Reserved 


Contents 


I.  THE    PHOTOPLAY 

Told  in  action  instead  of  words — a  distinct  literary  form—- 
requisites  of  a  writer — not  all  may  achieve  success. 

II.  A  VISIT  TO  A  THEATER 

Technical  terms — the  value  of  a  title — the  reel — stage 
terms — leader — inserts — visions — dissolves — cut-backs — 
matches — masks — night  scenes. 

III.  PRODUCING  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Going  the  rounds — the  rejection  slip — causes  for  rejec- 
tions— giving  plenty  of  time — reconstruction — reproduction. 

IV.  TOOLS  OF  THE  TRADE 

What  is  required — the  proper  paper — necessity  for  type- 
writing —  envelopes  —  manuscript  record  —  mailing  the 
script — things  to  be  avoided. 

V.  THE  FORM  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

The  three  divisions  of  the  photoplay — the  synopsis — the 
cast — the  action — the  need  for  a  brief  synopsis — synopses 
only — the  scene  plot. 

VI.  THE  PLOT  OF  ACTION 

Necessity  for  orderly  arrangement — impossible  to  go  back 
— introducing  and  identifying  the  characters — the  start 
and  finish  important. 

VII.  LEADERS  AND  INSERTED  MATTER 

Importance  of  careful  work — Leaders  vs.  Letters — tele- 
grams, newspaper  clippings — pictorial  inserts — need  for 
variety — the  "leaderless"  script. 

VIII      A  STUDY  OF  THE  SYNOPSIS 

The  vital  importance  of  the  synopsis — the  great  appeal 
to  the  editor — the  opportunity  for  literary  style — how  to 
condense  and  retain  the  story. 

24571 


IX.  CONDENSING  THE  SCRIPT 

Keeping  the  action  short — aim  to  tell  much  in  few  words 
— the  reason  for  terseness — needless  explanation — by-play 
and  the  real  action. 

X.  PLOT  FORMATION  

Incident  is  not  plot — the  story  must  have  an  object — the 
happy  ending — only  one  leading  character — the  need  for 
struggle— sources  of  plots. 

XI.  EVOLVING  A  PLOT 

Deriving  plots  from  nothing — from  the  title — from  a  start 
— from  a  climax — knowledge  of  the  subject  necessary. 

XII.  DEVELOPING  THE  PLOT 

Possibilities  of  the  plot — getting  the  plot  on  paper — the 
picture  eye — do  not  be  afraid  to  change — ivatch  for  situ- 
ations— the  increasing  interest. 

XIII.  PUTTING  IN  THE  PUNCH 

What  the  punch  is — the  three  sorts  of  dramatic  punch — 
raising    the    commonplace    to    the    dramatic — relation    of 
punch  to  plot — the  comedy  punch. 

XIV.  THE  CUT-BACK 

Value  of  the  cut-back — used  to  stop  gaps  and  cover  breaks 
— used  to  maintain  suspense — how  to  handle — the  dra- 
matic cut-back — the  comedy  cut-back. 

XV.  VALUES  AND  EMPHASIS 

The  emphasis  of  action — of  situation — of  acting — through 
busts — emphasising  leaders  in  action — relative  values  of 
the  players — placing  scenes. 

XVI.  THE  DRAMATIC  STORY 

Easier  than  comedy  to  most  persons — crime  and  violence 
not  in  themselves  dramatic — death  not  always  dramatic — 
heart  interest  makes  the  strongest  appeal — things  to  avoid. 

XVII.  THE  COMEDY  STORY 

Difficult  to  write — idea  and  action  must  both  be  humorous 
— developing  the  idea  in  comedy  action — avoid  ridicule — 
personal  afflictions  not  comedy  material. 

XVIII.  THE  TRICK  PICTURE 

Limited  demand  for  the  trick  picture  story — basis  of  trick 
work — stop  camera  —  back  turning — accelerated  speed  — 
double  exposure — double  printing. 


XIX.  THE  MULTIPLE-REEL 

The  series  story — the  preparation  of  the  script — how  to 
break  into  parts — numbering  the  scenes — the  synopsis. 

XX.  ADAPTATIONS 

Adaptations  not  desired — studio  staff  is  better  equipped  to 
write  these  scripts  through  their  knowledge  of  just  what 
is  required — preparing  for  adaptation. 

XXI.  THE  TALKING  PICTURES 

How  they  are  made — the  limitations — timing  the  picture — 
range  of  subjects — their  future. 

XXII.  COPYRIGHT  AND  THE  COPYRIGHT  STORY 

What  copyright  is — what  protection  afforded — manuscript 
not  copyrightable — what  may  and  may  not  be  taken  from 
the  copyrighted  story. 

XXIII.  CENSORSHIP  OF  FILMS 

The  National  Board  of  Censorship — police  censorships — 
what  is  forbidden,  and  why — when  crime  is  permissible. 

XXIV.  THE  STOLEN  STORY 

Do  Editors  steal  stories?    A  frank  discussion  of  a  ques- 
tion you  are  bound  to  ask — how  duplications  occur. 

XXV.  YOU   AND   THE  EDITOR 

A  felv  hints  on  how  to  sell  to  advantage — your  attitude 
toward  the  editor — the  slight  value  of  personal  pull — 
querying  manuscript — lost  scripts. 

XXVI.  SELF  CRITICISM 

Difficulties  of  self-criticism — lack  of  proper  perspective — 
interest  in  the  subject — value  of  delayed  judgment. 

XXVII.  How  TO  STUDY 

The  value  of  practise — the  need  for  study — the  theater  as 
a  schoolroom — self  criticism — the  value  of  advice. 

XXVIII.  THE  UNASKED  QUESTION 

Things  you  will  want  to  know  explained  in  detail. 

XXIX.  TECHNICAL  TERMS 

Terminology  of  the  studio — definitions  of  studio  phrases — 
new  meanings  given  words  in  common  use. 

XXX.  COMPLETE  ACTION   


INTRODUCTION    TO     SECOND     EDITION 

It  is  less  than  eighteen  months  since  the  first  edition  was  placed 
in  the  market,  following  serial  publication  in  the  columns  of 
THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WORLD,  but  those  eighteen  months  have  been 
marked  by  great  changes  in  photoplay  needs  and  construction. 
Then  the  cut-back  was  merely  a  device  for  avoiding  the  showing 
of  unpleasant  or  prohibited  action;  now  it  figures  importantly  in 
the  development  of  the  story.  The  "punch,"  too,  was  then  a 
thing  unnamed,  though  the  punch  has  always  been  the  requisite 
of  the  real  story.  The  past  year  has  also  seen  the  acceptance  of 
the  multiple-reel  as  a  regular  release  instead  of  an  occasional 
novelty. 

These  and  minor  changes  have  rendered  it  expedient  to  issue  a 
completely  new  volume  under  the  old  title.  With  the  exceptions 
noted  above  there  is  little  herein  contained  that  may  not  be 
found  in  the  first  edition,  but  all  matters  are  treated  in  greater 
detail  and  an  effort  has  been  made  to  teach  rather  than  to  set 
forth  the  rules,  and  leave  the  writer  to  make  his  own  application 
of  the  same.  Instead  of  one  there  are  four  complete  sample 
manuscripts,  for  two  of  which  we  are  indebted  to  the  Lubin 
Manufacturing  Company  and  to  Lawrence  S.  McCloskey,  their 
Editor-author,  and  in  addition  there  are  many  examples  in  ex- 
planation of  certain  developments. 

An  effort  has  been  made  to  set  forth  clearly  all  of  the  matters 
treated,  but  this  information  will  be  useless  to  he  who  merely 
reads  and  does  not  study  this  little  volume.  It  is  not  a  magic 
wand  to  be  waved  over  the  typewritten  page.  It  is  a  text  book 
for  the  earnest  student  who  seeks  to  make  progress,  and  to  all 
earnest  students,  who  realize  that  the  Photoplay  is  by  no  means 
the  least  of  the  branches  of  literary  work,  this  volume  is  dedicated 
in  the  hope  that  they  will  find  as  much  pleasure  in  the  study  of  its 
pages  as  has  the  writer  in  preparing  the  work. 

NEW  YORK,  June,  1913.  EPES  WINTHROP  SARGENT. 


Technique  of  the  Photoplay 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    PHOTOPLAY 

Told  in  action  instead  of  words — a  distinct  literary  form — 
requisites  of  a  writer — not  all  may  achieve  success. 

Although  not  technically  correct,  the  simplest  and  most  under- 
standable definition  of  the  photoplay  is  that  it  is  a  story  told  in 
pictured  action  instead  of  being  described  in  words. 

A  series  of  incidents,  closely  connected,  leading  from  a  start 
to  a  definite  ending,  is  a  story  when  told  in  words.  If  it  is  told 
in  dialogue  form  with  appropriate  action  and  gesture,  it  becomes 
a  play.  Done  in  action  and  gesture,  but  without  words,  it  is  a 
pantomime,  but  pantomime  as  it  is  understood  on  the  stage,  is 
not  a  photoplay.  The  pantomime  of  the  stage  employs  a 
"language"  of  its  own.  Certain  gestures  mean  certain  things, 
and  pantomime  is  told  in  a  sort  of  sign  language,  not  understood 
by  many  in  America,  but  intelligible  to  most  European  theater- 
goers. Photoplay  has  no  arbitrary  gestures. 

The  photoplayer  who  asks  for  food,  stretches  his  hand  toward 
the  spread  table  and  looks  more  or  less  appealing,  according  to 
the  circumstances  in  which  he  finds  himself.  The  pantomimist 
would  open  his  mouth  and  point  down  his  throat  with  the  first 
and  second  fingers  of  his  hand.  If  it  were  drink  that  he  desired, 
he  would  use  the  thumb,  extending  from  his  clenched  fist,  instead 
of  his  fingers. 

In  the  early  days,  copying  the  work  of  the  French  producers, 
this  elementary  language  was  employed  in  part  in  the  making  of 
the  motion  picture  plays  of  that  period,  but  as  the  art  advanced, 
the  stilted,  arbitrary  and  unconvincing  "language"  of  pantomime 
was  replaced  by  natural  gestures  and  actions. 

Photoplay,  in  a  word,  is  not  an  adaptation  of  another  branch  of 
literary  work,  but  is  possessed  of  a  technique  all  its  own.  There 
are,  of  course,  the  broad  basic  rules  of  literary  construction  and 
dramatic  development,  applicable  to  all  forms  of  literature, 
whether  written  or  verbally  expressed,  but  in  the  past  few  years 
the  art  of  writing  photoplays  has  become  possessed  of  a  tech- 
nique that  is  applicable  only  to  the  writing  of  picture  plays  and 
to  no  other  form. 


OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

The  photoplay  itself  is  the  newest  of  the  literary  arts.  Pictures 
of  motion  projected  on  the  screen  became  a  commercial  proposi- 
tion only  in  1895.  Even  then  it  was  crude  and  undeveloped; 
the  forty  -and  fifty  foot  comedies  bearing  but  slight  resemblance 
to  the  multiple-reel  stories  of  to-day.  Many  of  the  machines 
of  that  time  could  not  take  more  than  fifty  feet  of  film  at  one 
time,  and  it  was  not  possible  to  give  more  than  the  hint  of  a 
story  in  the  fifty  to  sixty  seconds  the  picture  ran. 

As  the  interest  in  these  short,  sketchy  subjects  waned,  the 
makers  of  projectors  increased  the  capacity  of  their  machines. 
One,  two  and  three  hundred  feet  could  be  taken  at  one  time  and 
this  capacity  was  increased  until  there  are  now  machines  that 
can  project  three  thousand  feet  of  film  without  reloading  and  the 
ultimate  capacity  of  the  machine  is  merely  a  matter  of  the  size 
•of  the  magazine  and  the  mechanical  difficulties  of  handling  a  reel 
weighing  more  than  twenty  pounds. 

As  the  films  grew  in  length,  longer  stories  were  produced  and 
these  more  ambitious  efforts  called  for  the  production  of  the 
picture  under  more  careful  management.  In  place  of  the  man 
who  had  dropped  into  the  business,  regular  stage  managers  were 
employed,  recruited  mostly  from  the  stock  and  repertoire  com- 
panies. For  a  time  they  wrote  all  their  own  plays;  rehashes  of 
the  standard  drama,  adaptations  from  non-copyright  books  or 
the  products  of  their  own  imagination. 

One  of  the  Edison  producers  conceived  the  idea  of  making  a 
western  play  with  a  large  production  and  hired  a  small  branch 
of  a  railroad  for  a  Sunday.  He  told  the  players  engaged  that 
they  could  bring  their  friends,  if  they  desired,  and  they  could  see 
'how  pictures  were  made  if  they  would  "go  in"  a  couple  of  scenes. 

He  had  not  counted  on  such  a  host  as  showed  up  at  the  sta- 
tion at  train  time,  but  they  all  went  along  and  "The  Great  Train 
Robbery"  was  made  with  the  largest  company  of  people  that  to 
that  time  had  ever  been  employed  in  a  dramatic  picture  play. 

This  production  marked  the  turning  point  of  the  photoplay. 
It  was  shown  that  the  pictures  were  not  yet  dead,  for  one  New 
York  vaudeville  theater  restored  the  pictures  to  their  old 
^'headline"  position,  making  the  "Train  Robbery"  the  featured 
attraction. 

The  change  brought  a  demand  for  stronger  stories.  It  was 
seen  that  the  studio  force  could  not  produce  each  week  a  suf- 
ficiently strong  story,  and  outside  writers  were  invited  to  con- 
tribute suggestions,  for  which  they  were  paid  from  five  to  fif- 
teen dollars.  These  mere  synopses  were  developed  in  the  studio 
into  scripts,  since  few  of  the  writers  possessed  the  knowledge 
of  picture-making  requisite  to  enable  them  to  develop  the  script. 


THE  PHOTOPLAY  9 

As  the  submission  of  manuscripts  to  the  studios  increased  and 
it  became  apparent  that  the  flood  had  just  commenced,  someone 
familiar  with  current  and  standard  literature  was  employed  to 
detect  the  impostor  who  sought  to  sell  stories  written  by  others, 
to  read  the  submissions  and  select  the  good  from  the  bad  and  in 
general  to  place  his  literary  intelligence  at  the  disposal  of  the 
other  studio  workers.  Since  their  duties  were  in  part  editorial, 
and  for  want  of  a  better  title,  they  were  known  as  Editors. 

The  editors  quickly  saw  that  they  could  be  better  served  if  the 
writers  were  instructed  in  the  details  of  picture  making.  They 
could  not  only  plan  their  plots  better,  but  suggest  the  layout 
of  the  scenes.  The  plot  alone  was  seldom  offered  in  such  shape 
that  the  scenes  were  suggested  and  in  order  to  plan  the  scenes 
intelligently,  some  knowledge  of  the  methods  of  picture  making 
and  some  hint  as  to  exact  form  were  needed. 

Instruction  sheets,  generally  known  as  Form  Sheets,  were  sup- 
plied without  charge  to  all  who  asked,  but  this  practise  has  been 
abandoned  and  the  desire  of  the  manufacturer  is  now  to  check  in 
so  far  as  possible  the  vast  number  of  faulty  scripts  that  pour 
into  the  studio  in  every  mail.  Most  of  the  correspondence  school 
courses  are  copied  from  or  at  least  based  on  these  old  form 
sheets,  but  the  work  has  been  done  by  men  not  fitted  by  their 
own  knowledge  to  combine  the  various  sheets. 

These  schools,  through  their  methods  of  advertising,  have  done 
the  business  real  harm  in  that  the  statements  made  to  the  effect 
that  no  skill  or  ability  is  needed  to  write  plays  has  encouraged 
literally  thousands  of  ignorant  and  incompetent  persons  to  sub- 
mit their  scripts  and  has  given  others,  for  whom  there  might 
have  been  hope,  the  fatal  belief  that  writing  photoplays  is  a  sim- 
ple matter  requiring  no  special  qualification  or  preparation. 

This  is  a  very  grave  error.  There  was  a  time  when  the  idea, 
no  matter  how  crudely  presented,  was  eagerly  sought,  but  that 
order  has  changed.  The  successful  writer  of  the  moment  is  as 
well  equipped  technically  as  the  novelist  or  the  dramatist.  He 
writes  in  strict  accordance  with  the  rules  of  construction  and  he 
observes  with  care  the  hundred  and  one  details  that  go  to  make 
the  perfect  script. 

It  is  entirely  true  that  the  gift  of  fluent  literary  expression  is 
not  required,  and  in  this  photoplay  opens  a  field  to  many  whose 
ideas  are  good,  but  who  are  unable  to  write  flowing  English, 
but  there  is  demanded  instead  the  knack,  inherent  or  acquired, 
of  thinking  and  writing  in  action,  of  planning  effective  situations 
instead  of  rounded  sentences,  of  devising  dramatic  moments  and 
periods  of  suspense  instead  of  writing  glowing  narrative  and 
brilliant  description. 


10  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

The  first  requisite  in  writing  photoplay  is  imagination.  With- 
out this  trait  none  may  hope  to  succeed.  The  trained  fiction 
writer  can  take  an  old  plot  and  with  graceful  style  and  vivid 
word  painting  cause  it  to  appear  to  be  completely  new,  but  in 
photoplay  the  plot  is  the  foundation  of  success.  Style  cannot 
disguise  the  age  of  the  idea,  there  must  be  some  freshness  to 
the  plot;  some  original  twist  or  completely  new  development 
that  renders  the  work  acceptable.  In  this  respect  the  photoplay 
writer  is  at  a  disadvantage  beside  the  creator  of  fiction  or  even 
the  producer  of  dramatic  plays. 

Imagination,  prolific  arid  creative,  is  the  first  demand,  but  this 
must  be  supplemented  by  an  ability  to  weigh  the  values  of  a  situ- 
ation. The  author  of  photoplays  must  be  able  to  gauge  his  story 
so  nicely  that  the  interest  of  the  spectator  is  held  in  growing 
tensity  until  the  climax  breaks.  What  the  fiction  writer  must  do 
in  words,  the  photoplay  writer  must  do  with  business  and 
situation. 

In  the  years  of  development  between  1909  and  1913,  upward  of 
ten  thousand  persons  have  sought  to  win  success  as  photoplay 
writers.  This  is  a  conservative  estimate.  Some  Editors  place 
the  figures  at  nearer  50,000.  Some  write  one  or  two  plays  and 
give  up  in  disgust  when  these  do  not  sell.  Others  are  more  per- 
sistent, but  of  all  who  have  made  the  venture  there  are  not  more 
than  fifty  persons  outside  the  studios,  who  look  to  photoplay 
writing  for  their  support  or  who  are  competent  to  gain  a  decent 
income  from  the  writing  of  plays  alone. 

The  payment  for  photoplays  is  increasing  steadily,  but  with  it 
comes  a  demand  for  a  grade  of  work  commensurate  with  the 
higher  payment.  In  magazine  work  the  man  who  gets  five  cents 
a  word  is  expected  to  write  a  vastly  better  story  than  the  man 
who  is  paid  but  half  a  cent.  It  is  the  same  in  photoplay. 

The  writing  of  photoplays,  then,  is  no  short  cut  on  the  road  to 
success,  nor  is  it  a  pastime  lightly  to  be  taken  up  when  the  spirit 
moves.  It  is  not  possible  to  read  any  book  or  course  and  at  once 
write  scripts  that  will  sell.  Success  is  to  be  gained,  save  in 
exceptional  instances,  only  through  close  study,  hard  work  and 
long  practise.  It  is  not  possible  to  sell  many  if  any  scripts  the  first 
year,  but  photoplay  writing  is  a  pleasant  avocation,  if  not  a  profit- 
able vocation,  and  careful  study  and  hard  work  may  lead  to 
studio  connections  and  good  remuneration.  The  amateur  of 
yesterday  is  the  expert  of  today  and  without  exception  they  are 
the  ones  who  were  willing  to  study  and  work  hard. 


A  VISIT  TO  A  THEATER  11 


CHAPTER  II. 


A    VISIT  TO    A  THEATER 

Technical  terms — the  value  of  a  title — the  reel — stage  terms — 
leader — inserts — visions— dissolves — cut-backs — matches 
— masks — night  scenes. 

Before  we  apply  ourselves  closely  to  the  study  of  technique, 
let  us  first  visit  some  photoplay  theater  and  watch  a  subject  run. 
It  will  help  us  to  familiarize  ourselves  with  some  of  the  terms 
and  give  us  an  idea  of  the  films.  The  photoplay  theater  is  the 
real  schoolroom  of  the  man  or  woman  who  would  write  picture 
plays  if  only  the  visit  is  made  with  seeing  eyes  and  not  solely 
for  the  purpose  of  amusement.  There  is  no  more  valuable  in- 
struction to  be  had,  for  here  we  can  see  the  successes  and  failures 
and  can  study  out  the  causes  of  those  triumphs  or  defeats. 

Before  we  go  inside  let's  look  at  the  lobby  for  a  moment  and 
study  the  posters.  We  have  come  with  the  fixed  intention  of 
entering.  The  poster  display  can  neither  attract  us  nor  send  us 
on  our  way,  but  the  theater  is  on  a  busy  thoroughfare  and  hun- 
dreds pass  with  a  glance  at  the  pictures.  Some  are  attracted  bv 
the  title  or  the  picture  and  stop  to  look,  some  of  these  pass  on, 
others  enter  the  theater. 

Some  of  the  titles  do  not  attract  us.  There  is  one  that  is  seven 
words  long.  If  we  were  hurrying  past,  the  quick  glance  could 
never  take  in  that  title,  and  no  matter  how  attractively  it  may 
be  worded,  we  would  not  be  induced  to  enter.  Nor  is  it  merely 
long  and  cumbersome.  It  takes  up  more  than  a  third  of  the  space 
that  in  other  posters  is  given  to  the  picture  of  some  catchy  scene 
from  the  play.  There's  another  on  the  other  side  of  the  ticket 
box.  The  letters  are  twice  the  size  of  the  other  and  yet  they 
take  up  only  about  a  sixth  of  the  poster  space.  Just  two  words — 
Bessie  Did — but  the  picture  is  that  of  a  rather  attractive  looking 
girl,  and  we  are  glad  that  we  are  going  inside  that  we  may  learn 
what  it  was  she  did. 

We've  learned  one  thing  already  and  we've  not  even  bought 
a  ticket.  We  have  found  that  a  title  should  be  short,  so  as  to  be 
quickly  read,  and  attractive  so  as  to  pique  the  curiosity  and  make 
the  person  reading  the  title  want  to  see  the  picture.  If  we  saw 
what  it  was  that  Bessie  did  from  the  picture  on  the  poster,  we 


12  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

know  that  we  should  not  be  so  eager  when  we  got  inside,  so  we 
have  also  learned  that  the  title  must  tell  something  about  the 
picture,  but  not  tell  so  much  that  we  know  all  about  the  picture 
before  we  see  it  on  the  screen. 

One  poster  announces  that  the  story  is  in  three  parts  and  an- 
other says  "Big  six-reel  show  today." 

The  reel  is  the  spool  on  which  the  film  is  wound ;  a  cylinder  of 
wood  as  wide  as  the  film  and  about  two  inches  through.  On 
each  side  is  a  metal  disc,  about  ten  inches  in  diameter,  to  hold 
the  film  in  place.  That's  one  sort  of  reel,  but  a  reel  is  also  a 
rough  standard  of  measurement.  It  is  about  a  thousand  feet  of 
film,  seldom  less  than  950  and  never  less  than  850.  If  a  manufac- 
turer releases  or  puts  on  the  market  four  reels  a  week,  it  means 
that  on  four  set  days  he  publishes  about  a  thousand  feet  of  film. 
The  exchanges  which  hire  the  reels  to  the  theaters,  have  standing 
orders  for  certain  release  days.  They  know  they  will  get  about 
one  thousand  feet  of  film  instead  of  getting  500  this  Friday  and 
i, 800  feet  next  Friday,  so  the  reel  is  handy  for  them.  On  the 
other  hand  they  contract  with  the  theater  to>  rent  it  so  many 
reels  a  day,  and  the  manager  knows  that  if  he  gets  three  reels 
his  performance  will  run  about  an  hour,  since  it  takes  from  fif- 
teen to  eighteen  minutes  to  run  one  thousand  feet  of  film  at 
proper  speed.  The  reel  is  a  handy  measure  for  him,  because  he 
knows  that  three  reels  means  about  three  thousand  feet. 

That  a  subject  is  in  three  parts  means  that  it  is  in  three  reels 
or  that  it  runs  about  three  thousand  feet  or  one  hour.  Part 
sounds  better  than  reel  and  is  better  understood,  so  part  is  used 
in  the  case  of  a  story  that  runs  more  than  one  reel. 

A  split  reel  means  that  the  thousand  feet  has  been  divided  or 
split  up  between  two  or  more  subjects,  and  we  speak  of  split  reel 
or  half  reel  comedies  or  dramas  to  indicate  some  play  that  does 
not  run  the  full  thousand  feet. 

Perhaps  a  part  of  the  split  reel  may  be  given  to  an  educational 
subject.  That  is  a  general  term  for  almost  anything  that  is  not 
a  play.  It  may  be  a  picture  of  the  "Bay  of  Naples"  or  an  X-Ray 
picture  of  the  human  stomach;  it  may  be  made  in  China  or 
•Chicago  or  right  outside  the  theater  door.  There  was  a  time 
when  the  educational  was  merely  used  to  fill  out  the  reel  with, 
but  now  they  have  a  value  of  their  own.  The  educational  and  the 
animated  weekly  that  is  merely  a  newspaper  in  motion  pictures, 
are  things  with  which  we  have  no  present  concern.  The  film 
makers  have  special  photographers  who  travel  about  getting 
these,  and  we  cannot  sell  tips  on  the  news  yet,  though  this  may 
come  in  time. 


A  VISIT  TO  A  THEATER  13 

Passing  the  door  we'll  peep  into  the  projection  room  and  look 
at  the  projection  machine.  This  is  nothing  more  than  a  magic 
lantern  with  a  mechanism  for  passing  the  film  in  front  of  the 
lense  and  bringing  it  to  a  halt  at  the  exact  moment  that  the  shut- 
ter of  the  lense  is  open.  The  movement  of  the  film  is  continuous 
from  the  magazine  or  fireproof  box  that  holds  the  film  and  it  is 
continuous  at  the  take-up  or  lower  magazine,  where  it  is  wound 
on  another  reel  after  it  has  passed  through  the  machine,  but  a 
simple  device  causes  the  film  to  be  drawn  down  bit  by  bit  so  that 
just  one  frame  or  one  of  the  thousands  of  pictures  on  a  piece  of 
film  is  at  rest  as  the  lense  is  uncovered.  The  machine  is  gener- 
ally turned  by  hand,  though  a  motor  can  be  used,  and  if  you'll 
notice  you  will  see  that  the  operator  makes  one  revolution  of  the 
crank  every  second.  Every  turn  of  the  crank  passes  one  foot 
of  film  through  the  machine,  so  we  learn  that  in  picture  making 
a  second  is  a  foot  and  a  foot  is  a  second.  That's  about  all  the 
machine  can  teach  us;  let  us  find  a  seat  and  watch  the  screen. 
The  picture  that  was  running  is  about  over,  but  a  new  one  will 
start  in  a  moment.  Here  it  comes. 

But  at  the  start  it  is  not  a  picture  at  all.  It  is  an  ornamental 
frame  enclosing  the  name  of  the  picture,  the  name  of  the  maker 
and  perhaps  the  name  of  author  or  producer  or  both.  That 
seems  to  stay  steady  for  a  few  seconds,  but  it  doesn't.  It  was  on 
the  screen  for  ten  seconds,  so  ten  feet  or  about  150  different  pic- 
tures of  the  title  were  shown  in  that  time.  Ten  feet  of  title  are 
used  because  it  has  been  figured  out  that  it  takes  the  slow  read- 
ers about  ten  seconds  to  spell  out  the  title. 

Now  the  first  real  picture  is  on  the  screen.  It's  a  bachelor's 
den  with  the  hero  sitting  in  an  easy  chair  smoking.  As  it  is  not 
a  real  room,  but  made  from  painted  scenery,  we  speak  of  it  as  a 
set  and  -because  it  shows  a  room  and  not  some  place  outdoors  it 
is  an  interior.  Were  it  out  of  doors  it  would  be  an  exterior. 
Made  with  scenery  it  would  be  an  exterior  set,  but  if  it  was  really 
outdoors  it  would  be  a  location. 

The  scene  in  the  room  only  lasts  a  few  seconds,  though  it 
seems  longer,  because  that  is  one  of  the  odd  things  about  the 
silent  picture.  We  were  watching  the  bachelor  in  his  den  and  in 
just  one-sixteenth  of  a  second  we  are  in  the  library  in  the  hero- 
ine's home.  The  girl  goes  to  the  table  and  sits  down  to  write. 
We  wonder  what  it  is  she  is  writing  about  and,  as  though  in 
reply,  a  written  letter  blots  out  the  library.  It  is  just  as  though 
we  read  the  letter  over  her  shoulder.  Presently  the  letter  van- 
ishes and  we  see  the  library  again,  but  now  we  know  that  the 
girl's  name  is  Jane,  that  the  man's  name  is  Harry  and  that  Jane 
is  going  to  the  country  because  her  father  wants  her  to  stay  and 


14  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

meet  an  English  lord  whom  he  is  anxious  for  her  to  marry. 
Jane  doesn't  want  to  marry  him  because  she  loves  Harry,  so  she 
is  running  away.  All  of  this  was  in  the  letter. 

If  it  were  just  left  to  pictures  alone  we  could,  after  a  while, 
get  the  idea  that  Jane  went  to  the  country  to  get  away  from  the 
noble  suitor  and  that  she  loves  Harry,  but  a  fnillion  feet  of  pic- 
tures could  not  tell  us  that  her  name  was  Jane  or  that  his  was 
Harry.  It  has  been  done  in  twenty  seconds  in  that  letter. 

When  the  picture  was  being  put  together  in  the  factory,  that 
library  scene  was  all  one  straight  piece  of  film,  but  at  one  point 
there  was  a  mark  that  said  "Insert  letter  No.  i,"  so  a  girl  cut 
the  piece  of  film  in  two  and  cemented  the  letter  in,  or  inserted  it, 
so  that  anything  belonging  to  a  scene  that  is  not  in  the  photo- 
graph of  the  scene  is  called  an  insert. 

Now  Jane  calls  her  maid  and  gives  her  the  letter.  The  maid 
leaves  the  room.  If  this  had  been  made  five  years  ago  we  would 
have  had  a  picture  of  the  maid  leaving  Jane's  house,  another  in 
which  she  is  seen  walking  along  the  street  and  a  third  where  she 
comes  to  Harry's  house,  but  it  was  found  that  it  looks  just  as 
real  if  the  maid  leaves  Jane's  library  and  comes  into  Harry's 
den,  though  we  need  one  of  those  exterior  scenes  to  show  that 
Harry  and  Jane  do  not  live  in  the  same  house.  We  might  see 
her  leaving  Jane's  house  or  coming  to  Harry's ;  since  she  comes 
to  Harry's  house  we  have  an  idea  that  this  is  done  because  the 
front  of  Harry's  house  will  be  used  again  and  Jane's  home  will 
not  be  shown  from  the  outside. 

The  fourth  scene  is  the  same  as  that  first  one,  where  we  saw 
Harry  sitting  smoking.  The  letter  is  brought  him  and  he  starts 
to  read  it.  There  it  comes  on  the  screen  again,  but  this  time 
we  barely  have  time  to  read  the  "Dear  Harry"  when  it  is  gone 
again.  We  know  what  is  in  the  letter,  so  just  a  flash  about  three 
feet  long  is  used. 

Now  the  room  vanishes  and  there  comes  on  the  screen  some 
printed  words  that  read :  "The  next  day.  Harry  helps  Jane  to 
escape."  We  are  going  to  see  that  he  aids  her  escape,  but  we  can't 
tell  whether  the  escape  is  that  same  day  or  weeks  afterward. 
There  might,  of  course,  have  been  a  large  calendar  on  the  wall. 
In  the  first  scenes  it  showed  a  large  10  and  now  Harry  tears  off 
a  leaf  and  shows  that  it  is  the  next  day,  but  the  passage  of  time 
is  better  told  in  print,  and  so  a  leader  is  used.  Leader  is  also 
called  sub-title  and  interscription,  but  leader  is  preferred. 

The  picture  runs  on.  Jane  has  gone  to  the  country  and  Harry 
stays  home. '  Sitting  in  his  room  he  thinks  of  her  and  as  he  does 
she  seems  to  appear  before  him,  at  first  just  a  shadowy  outline, 


A  VISIT  TO  A  THEATER  15 

but  -gradually  growing  more  distinct,  until  it  seems  as  though 
she  was  as  real  as  Harry  himself.  Then  she  slowly  fades  away 
and  Harry  realizes  with  a  sigh  that  it  was  just  a  day  dream. 

Jane  has  been  dissolved  into 'the  picture  and  out  again.  Harry 
sinks  back  in  his  chair  again  and  wonders  what  Jane  is  doing. 
Once  more  we  see  Jane,  but  this  time  we  see  not  only  Jane,  but 
the  orchard  where  she  is  sitting.  This  time  Jane's  figure  is  not 
so  large,  but  the  picture  takes  up  almost  a  quarter  of  the  screen. 
She  conies  and  goes  just  as  she  did  in  the  other  appearance,  but 
this  time  it  is  a  vision.  The  vision  differs  from  the  dissolve  in 
that  a  vision  is  distinct  from  the  scene  while  in  a  dissolve  what- 
ever is  shown  is  dissolved  into  the  scene  already  showing.  The 
first  time  we  saw  just  Jane  in  the  den.  Now  we  see  Jane  in  the 
orchard,  so  it  is  a  vision  since  Jane  and  the  orchard  are  quite 
apart  from  Harry  in  his  den. 

The  next  scene  also  shows  Harry's  room,  but  this  time  he  is  in 
evening  dress  because  he  is  going  to  take  dinner  with  Jane's 
father.  That's  why  there  was  just  a  one  word  leader  flashed 
on  the  screen  that  said  "Later."  Without  that  leader  it  would 
have  seemed  that  Harry,  sitting  in  the  chair  in  a  smoking  jacket, 
suddenly  sprang  up  and  by  the  mere  act  of  jumping  had  changed 
his  clothes.  It  was  the  same  room.  The  only  thing  changed 
would  be  Harry's  clothes,  because  there  would  be  no  pause  be- 
tween the  two  scenes,  so  we  break  them  with  a  leader.  The 
leader  only  runs  three  seconds,  but  it  acts  like  the  drop  curtain  in 
a  theater. 

A  moment  later  we  get  another  sort  of  leader.  Harry  comes 
to  Jane's  home  and  meets  the  Count.  We  can  guess  that  the  old 
man  says  that  this  is  Jane's  husband  to-be,  for  Harry  stiffens 
up  and  a  leader  flashes  on  the  screen.  This  time  it  is  in  quota- 
tion marks  and  says,  "She  will  marry  only  an  American." 

All  the  other  leaders  have  been  between  scenes,  but  this  is 
right  in  the  middle,  so  it  is  known  as  a  "cut-in  leader''  because 
it  is  cut  into  the  scene. 

As  the  play  runs  along  we  find  that  the  Count  is  not  a  noble- 
man at  all,  but  just  a  thief  who  is  after  the  jewels  that  he  knows 
Jane's  father  keeps  in  the  safe  in  the  library.  He  coaxes  the 
father  to  show  him  the  jewels.  As  the  safe  is  about  to  be  locked, 
the  Count  jostles  him  and  the  key  falls  to  the  floor.  The  Count 
picks  it  up  and  makes  a  wax  impression  of  it  before  he  returns  it. 

We  know  that  the  wax  impression  was  made  because  just  as 
the  Count  started  to  rise  it  seemed  as  though  the  camera  had 
been  moved  right  up  to  the  Count,  so  close  that  the  lense  would 
take  in  only  his  hands  working  with  the  cake  of  wax.  This  hap- 
pened just  as  we  were  wishing  that  they  would  come  closer  so  we 


16  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

could  see  what  the  Count  was  doing.  We  knew  it  was  something 
important,  but  we  could  not  quite  make  it  out.  In  the  bust 
picture  the  hands  were  so  large  we  could  see  every  movement 
Of  course  it  might  have  been  explained  in  a  leader  that  "The 
Count  makes  an  impression  of  the  key,"  but  the  bust  is  more 
interesting  because  it  is  a  picture  and  not  a  leader. 

Properly  speaking,  a  bust  is  a  portrait  showing  the  head  and 
shoulders  only,  but  bust  is  more  definite  than  close  ^up,  which  is 
sometimes  used,  for  close  up  might  also  mean  a  full  picture, 
but  with  the  camera  closer  to  the  scene. 

Harry  knows  what  the  Count  is  up  to  and  when  the  false  key 
is  made  and  the  Count  is  about  to  open  the  safe,  he  bursts  into 
the  room  with  Jane's  father.  The  Count  is  unmasked  and  driven 
out  of  the  house.  In  revenge  he  plans  to  abduct  Jane.  Harry 
learns  about  it  too  late  to  prevent  it,  but  he  goes  tearing  off  in 
his  car  to  the  rescue.  The  father  also  learns  of  the  plot  and 
follows.  It's  a  pretty  lively  three  minutes  that  comes  next.  We 
see  the  Count  rushing  along,  we  see  Harry  following  and  then 
the  Count  and  then  Harry  and  then  the  father,  then  Harry  and 
then  the  Count.  There  is  not  more  than  a  second  or  two  in  each 
flash,  but  together  they  tell  the  story  of  the  chase  and  its  varying 
advantage  until  we  are  sitting  almost  on  the  edge  of  the  seat. 

Just  a  couple  of  pictures  would  have  told  the  story,  but  using  the 
cut-back  or  switch-back  greatly  heightens  the  suspense  and  keeps 
the  story  moving. 

In  the  end  Harry  saves  Jane  from  the  Count  and  gets  her 
father's  consent  to  their  marriage.  It's  the  same  old  happy  end- 
ing and  we  are  glad  of  it.  Now  comes  a  tail-piece,  a  ten  foot 
strip  that  announces  that  the  picture  has  been  passed  by  the 
National  Board  of  Censorship.  We  are  rather  surprised,  for  sev- 
eral actions  in  this  picture  are  among  those  barred  by  the  Cen- 
sors, but  it  has  the  Censorship  tag,  so  it  is  all  right. 

The  next  picture  is  something  of  a  novelty.  A  child  is  talking 
to  an  old  man  and  points  to  a  scar  on  his  head.  He  smiles  and 
begins  to  speak.  A  leader  says  "Once  upon  a  time — "  and  we  see 
the  village  common  in  war  time  and  the  young  men  ready  to  go 
to  the, front.  There  is  not  an  abrupt  change  to  the  next  scene, 
but  the  common  dissolves  into  a  scene  in  camp,  this  in  turn  dis- 
solves into  another  picture  and  so  until  the  story  is  done.  Some- 
how it  seems  more  like  a  story  than  it  would  have  with  each 
scene  changing  abruptly.  We  can  gather  that  it  is  very  much  like 
that  dissolve  or  the  vision,  but  this  time  it  is  a  fade  because  the 
whole  scene  changes. 

In  the  next  reel  a  girl  goes  from  the  library  into  the  hall.  We 
see  her  leave  the  room  with  her  right  hand  on  the  knob  and 


PRODUCING  THE  PHOTOPLAY         17 

the  door  opening  toward  her.  In  the  hall  her  left  hand  is  on 
the  knob  and  the  door  is  still  opening  toward  her,  though  now 
it  should  be  the  other  way.  It  is  a  blunder  on  the  part  of  the 
director.  He  should  have  made  a  match  on  those  scenes  so  that 
one  corresponded  to  the  other. 

Later  on  the  girl  is  in  the  fields  and  looks  through  a  pair  of 
binoculars.  As  the  glass  goes  to  her  eyes  we  see  a  section  of  the 
country  she  is  looking  at ;  not  a  whole  frame,  but  a  part  as  though 
we  were  looking  through  a  figure  8  laid  on  its  side.  We  don't 
stop  to  think  that  it  is  not  true  to  life.  We  think,  almost,  that 
we  are  looking  through  those  glasses  ourselves.  A  mask  has  been 
used  to  give  the  effect,  and  the  scene  was  taken  with  that  between 
the  lense  and  the  film. 

Several  of  these  scenes  are  toned,  or  tinted,  some  of  them  blue 
or  light  green  for  night  and  others  a  yellow  for  lamplight,  but  we 
notice  one  thing,  they  are  pretty,  but  the  photography  is  poor  in 
every  one  of  the  toned  scenes.  That's  because  a  night  picture  is 
underexposed,  otherwise  it  would  not  differ  in  the  least  from  a 
daylight  picture.  The  toning  helps  a  little ;  indeed  some  pictures 
not  purposely  underexposed,  are  toned  to  get  a  better  effect,  but 
it  can  never  equal  the  good  black  and  white. 

But  we've  found  out  what  most  of  the  technical  terms  mean. 
Let's  get  out. 


CHAPTER  III. 

PRODUCING  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Going  the  rounds — the  rejection  slip— causes  for  rejection — 
giving  plenty  of  time — pricing  the  script — reconstruc- 
tion— production. 

Suppose  that  you  make  one  more  trip  before  you  settle  down 
to  work.  Reduce  yourself  to  a  few  sheets  of  typewritten  paper, 
crawl  into  a  manila  envelope  and  with  a  return  ticket  in  the 
shape  of  a  stamped  and  addressed  envelope,  become  a  script  and 
make  the  rounds. 

You  are  the  first  manuscript  of  a  very  new  author.  You  have 
your  faults — serious  ones — but  you're  not  such  a  bad  manuscript, 
at  that.  At  the  same  time  it  was  a  mistake  to  send  you  off  to  the 
Moon  Manufacturing  Company.  Your  author  should  have  known 


18  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

that  the  Moon  did  only  western  stories.  You're  a  polite  little 
drama  of  eastern  society  life.  You  may  be  all  right  in  your  place, 
but  the  Moon  studio  is  not  your  place.  Ice  water  may  command 
fabulous  prices  in  the  place  of  eternal  torment,  but  no  Esquimau 
is  going  to  pay  a  dollar  a  glass  for  ice  water  along  in  the  middle 
of  January.  The  secret  of  successful  selling  is  to  send  the  wares 
where  they  are  wanted.  Your  author  should  have  known  that. 

You  get  to  the  Moon  studio  in  the  morning  mail  along  with 
about  a  hundred  other  scripts.  The  Editor's  assistant  takes  your 
overcoat  off  and  puts  you  on  the  desk  with  the  others.  At  the 
Moon  the  Editor  does  all  the  reading  and  after  he  has  things 
started  for  the  day  he  begins  to  read. 

You're  a  young  and  rather  innocent  script  and  you  blush  when 
the  Editor  says  several  very  naughty  cuss  words  in  rapid  suc- 
cession, but  you  don't  altogether  blame  him.  He  has  come  on  a 
script  with  three  of  the  middle  pages  lightly  gummed  together. 
You  know  that  the  Editor  knows  this  was  done  "to  see  if  the 
stories  really  are  read."  You  are  glad  your  author  did  not  carry 
out  his  plan  of  sewing  a  couple  of  pages  together  for  the  same 
purpose. 

The  Editor  sniffs  at  the  next  script.  It  is  a  pretty  little  thing, 
done  with  a  two  color  ribbon,  all  the  leaders  and  letters  in  red. 
The  editor  says  he  wishes  that  the  author  would  put  his  time  into 
his  work  instead  of  painting  pictures  with  a  bi-chrome  ribbon, 
and  back  the  script  goes  into  the  envelope.  It  might  have  made 
a  real  Moon  story  if  there  had  been  any  real  story  there. 

The  third  script  is  just  glanced  at.  It  is  written  with  a  pen 
and  the  Editor  has  no  time  to  puzzle  out  the  writing  with  ninety 
odd  typewritten  scripts  waiting  action.  It  may  be  a  good  story, 
but  most  people  who  can  write  good  stories  know  enough  to  have 
them  typed. 

The  next  is  a  gem,  lots  of  action,  plenty  of  great  big  scenes, 
you  are  rather  surprised  to  see  it  slip  into  the  return  envelope. 
"Not  so  bad,"  murmurs  the  Editor,  "but  where  does  that  guy  think 
we're  going  to  borrow  a  submarine  and  a  battleship  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains !" 

And  so  it  goes,  one  story  after  another  goes  into  its  envelope 
and  with  each  your  hopes  grow  less.  Your  turn  comes.  Just  a 
line  or  two  and  your  synopsis  tells  your  utter  unfitness  for  that 
studio.  Back  you  go  with  a  rejection  slip  and  the  author  won- 
ders just  what  it  means. 

The  slips  all  follow  the  same  general  form.  The  Editor  re- 
grets that  you  are  not  available  for  present  needs  and  hopes  that 
your  author  will  try  again.  He  is  careful  to  state  that  rejection 


PRODUCING  THE  PHOTOPLAY  19 

does  not  imply  lack  of  merit.  It  is  rather  a  confusing  statement 
to  a  man  who  does  not  know.  You  cannot  tell  your  author  that 
it  is  a  simple  form  that  covers  every  case  and  that  it  is  sent  to 
everyone,  good  and  bad  alike.  It  is  neither  encouraging  nor  dis- 
couraging. It  is  one  of  the  most  non-committal  things  in  the 
world. 

But  your  author  does  not  know  this,  so  you  lie  on  the  desk 
while  he  consults  with  his  friends.  His  friends  all  tell  him  you 
are  a  great  story.  They  do  not  know  a  good  story  from  a  poor 
one,  but  that  does  not  matter.  It  is  easier  to  tell  your  author  that 
you  are  great  than  to  be  drawn  into  an  argument.  Smith,  who 
runs  the  photoplay  theater,  casts  the  deciding  vote.  He  tells  the 
author  that  he  only  wishes  that  all  the  plays  he  gets  were  as  good 
as  that,  and  why  are  you  not  sent  to  the  Planet? 

Off  your  author  hurries  to  send  you  to  the  Planet  with  the 
statement  that  Mr.  Smith,  of  the  Unique,  suggested  them  be- 
cause it  is  right  in  their  style.  The  Planet  Editor  smiles  a  weary 
smile.  He  knows  that  Smith  is  thinking  of  the  tickets  he  can 
sell  your  author.  Smith  doesn't  know  much  more  about  unpro- 
duced  scripts  than  your  author  does,  but  he  is  enough  of  a  show- 
man to  cry  "Great !"  instead  of  "Worthless !" 

That  you  happen  to  be  for  a  man  lead  and  the  Planet  prefers 
scripts  that  feature  their  leading  women  is  something  that  doesn't 
bother  Smith,  but  it  does  bother  the  Editor  and  you  go  home 
again.  By  now  the  author  knows  you  must  be  good  and  you  go 
right  out  again. 

This  time  you  have  the  novel  sensation  of  being  read.  Your 
synopsis  looks  rather  attractive  to  the  Constellation  company  and 
your  action  is  glanced  over.  The  Editor  puts  you  back  in  your 
envelope.  "I  wish  I  had  time  to  fix  that  up.  It's  not  half  bad." 

That's  your  epitaph  there.  You  are  not  half  bad,  but  you  are 
not  much  more  than  half  good  and  the  Editor  cannot  spend  a  day 
getting  you  straightened  out. 

You  are  turned  down  at  the  Bear  because  they  have  plenty  of 
dramas  and  want  only  comedies,  and  you  stay  five  weeks  at  the 
Lion  company,  most  of  the  time  in  the  pocket  of  a  director  who 
is  trying  to  get  the  time  and  the  courage  to  fix  you  up.  Then 
your  author  writes  a  sharp  letter  and  wants  to  know  all  about 
it,  and  the  Editor  tells  the  director  that  the  author  is  yelling  for 
his  script  and  the  director  says  to  let  the  author  have  it.  You 
stood  a  good  chance,  but  your  author  spoiled  it  by  being  im- 
patient. By  the  time  you  have  been  the  rounds  your  author 
forgets  and  sends  you  to  the  Bear  again.  This  time  they  have 
all  the  comedy  they  need  and  want  dramas.  A  director  takes  you 
around  with  him  to  read  and  gets  a  chance  in  a  few  days. 


20  TECHNIQUE*  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

"How  much  is  it  worth  ?"  asks  the  Editor,  pointing  to  your  first 
page  where  your  author  has  neatly  typed  the  fact  that  you  are 
offered  for  sale  for  $100. 

"Offer  him  ten  dollars,"  suggests  the  producer  with  a  laugh. 
"Any  man  that  don't  know  better  than  to  ask  a  hundred  for  a 
script  like  this  will  be  glad  to  take  anything." 

"Make  it  fifteen,"  suggests  the  Editor.  "He'll  learn  after  a 
while."  Being  a  script  and  not  a  person  you  know  that's  because 
five  or  six  years  ago  the  Editor  used  to  do  the  same  thing  and  has 
a  fellow  feeling,  perhaps,  for  your  author. 

You  go  back  into  the  director's  pocket  marked  "Hold"  and 
the  author  gets  a  letter  making  the  offer  and  enclosing  a  release 
slip.  This  slip,  stripped  of  its  legal  phrasing,  is  an  assignment  of 
copyright  and  all  other  rights  and  the  flat  statement  that  the 
author  is  the  originator  of  the  work.  In  the  event  of  a  proven 
theft  it  is  also  an  admission  that  the  signer  has  obtained  money 
under  false  pretenses.  The  slip  is  returned  signed  and  witnessed. 
Some  companies  might  have  sent  a  slip  that  must  be  sworn  to 
before  a  notary. 

Notice  that  the  copyright  and  all  other  rights  pass  to  the  com- 
pany. Possibly,  being  also  a  short  story  writer,  you  have  re- 
served the  fiction  rights.  In  that  case  you  will  make  no  sale  be- 
cause most  companies  want  the  right  to  the  fiction  form  of  the 
story  since  many  magazines  now  use  photoplay-fiction  stories. 

The  fiction  rights  are  not  worth  much,  at  best.  Photoplay 
audiences  will  accept  the  visualization  of  a  story,  but  the  gen- 
eral run  of  magazines  do  not  want  the  fictionized  photoplay  be- 
cause they  have  found  that  only  in  magazines  printing  little  else 
than  this  form  of  story  will  such  matter  be  found  acceptable. 

Some  time  ago  Bannister  Merwin  arranged  a  test  with  the. 
Munsey  Company  which  printed  some  of  his  stories  from  the 
Edison  photoplays.  They  were  resented  by  many  readers. 

This  does  not  apply  to  the  What  Happened  to  Mary  series,  be- 
cause these  were  printed  just  before  the  photoplay  was  released. 

The  check  is  sent  and  you  have  become  the  property  of  the 
company.  You  are  rather  glad  of  it.  You  have  traveled  thou- 
sands of  miles  and  have  spent  from  one  day  to  six  weeks  in 
practically  every  studio  in  the  country. 

Now  the  producer  starts  to  reconstruct  you.  He  takes  your  best 
scenes  and  builds  up  around  these.  He  puts  in  the  punch  you 
have  so  sadly  lacked,  he  builds  up  and  he  tears  down.  In  some 
studios  this  reconstruction  might  have  been  made  in  the  Editor's 
office,  but  the  process  is  the  same.  The  good  idea  is  taken  and  a 
real  story  is  built  on  the  wreck  of  the  old. 


PRODUCING  THE  PHOTOPLAY  21 

Now  the  property  and  scene  plots  are  prepared.  Plot  is  merely 
another  name  for  list.  The  property  plot  is  nothing  more  than  a 
list  of  all  the  things  needed  in  your  production  whether  it  be  a 
safety  pin  or  a  gattling  gun.  Some  properties  the  studio  owns, 
others  are  borrowed  or  rented. 

The  scene  plot,  is  the  list  of  sets  needed.  Generally  diagrams 
are  made  of  the  sets,  either  in  free  hand  or  to  scale.  In  the  latter 
way  paper  lightly  ruled  into  squares  is  used.  Each  of  these 
squares  represents  a  square  foot  of  space.  At  one  point  a  line  is 
drawn  across  six  of  these  squares.  This  is  known  as  the  front 
line  and  corresponds  to  the  footlights  of  the  dramatic  stage.  The 
Editor  knows  that  the  lense  his  cameraman  uses  will  just  take 
in  the  six  foot  line  if  placed  twelve  and  a  half  feet  back  of  the 
line.  Along  the  middle  line  of  the  six  he  measures  off  twelve  and 
a  half  squares.  A  line  drawn  from  this  point  through  the  sides 
of  the  six  foot  line  and  beyond  will  give  a  triangle  that  exactly 
corresponds  to  the  angle  of  the  lense.  Anything  within  these 
lines  is  in  the  picture,  anything  outside  is  not.  When  the  picture 
is  to  be  taken  these  lines  are  laid  down  in  some  way,  either  by 
mentally  marking  the  direction  of  the  line,  by  nailing  down  strips 
of  wood  or  running  tape  lines.  The  player  who  does  not  keep 
within  these  lines  is  said  to  fall  out  of  the  picture. 

While  the  property  man  is  working  over  the  property  plot  or 
"prop"  list,  the  stage  carpenter  is  planning  the  settings  with  the 
director,  either  using  regular  sets  or  having  new  scenes  painted. 
The  position  of  each  piece  of  furniture  is  determined  and  a 
drawing  made  for  each  set,  buit  not  for  each  scene. 

The  players  are  notified  as  to  the  costumes  and  wigs  they  will 
need.  Street  dress  of  today  must  be  furnished  by  the  player. 
The  company  supplies  foreign  costumes  or  the  dress  of  another 
period.  The  players  may  be  told  something  of  the  play,  but 
some  directors  do  not  permit  their  people  to  know  the  plot  and  it 
is  entirely  possible  for  an  actor  to  take  the  leading  part  in  a  play 
and  not  be  able  to  more  than  vaguely  guess  at  the  story. 

When  the  first  set  is  put  in  place  and  dressed  to  the  satisfaction 
of  the  director,  the  players  in  the  scenes  in  that  set  are  called. 
This  set  may  be  that  used  for  the  first  scene  or  for  one  in  the  mid- 
dle or  toward  the  end.  The  scenes  are  not  played  in  regular  order 
but  are  put  on  to  suit  the  conditions  oi  the  moment.  The  last 
scene  may  be  played  first  and  then  scene  two,  but  all  the  scenes 
in  one  set  are  played  before  that  set  is  struck  and  another  is  set, 
set  being  both  a  verb  and  a  noun. 

The  players  are  rehearsed  in  one  scene  at  a  time  and  this  may 
be  gone  through  with  once  or  ten  times  or  a  hundred  until  the 


22       TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

director  is  satisfied.  The  players  are  given  no  parts  but  simply 
do  what  the  director  tells  them  to. 

When  the  scene  is  rehearsed  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  director, 
he  gives  orders  to  turn  the  camera.  In  a  light  studio  the  illumina- 
tion comes  from  mercury  vapor  tubes,  arc  lights  or  a  combination 
of  the  two.  In  the  daylight  studio  arc  lights  supplement  the  sun 
on  cloudy  days  only.  In  the  South  and  West  the  scenes  are  set 
on  platforms  in  the  open  air,  light  cloth  screens  cutting  off  the 
sun  when  the  light  is  too  brilliant. 

The  camera  is  provided  with  two  boxes  or  magazines  with  vel- 
vet lined  slots  'through  which  the  film  passes  in  or  out.  The  film 
is  much  the  same  as  that  used  in  hand  cameras  save  that  it  comes 
in  strips  two  hundred  feet  long  and  only  i^  inches  wide.  The 
actual  picture,  or  frame,  is  only  one  inch  wide  and  three-fourths 
of  an  inch  high.  The  film  passes  from  the  top  box,  down  through 
the  camera  into  the  lower  box,  each  section  being  halted  for  an 
instant  in  front  of  the  lense  while  the  exposure  is  made.  Six- 
teen pictures  are  made  each  second. 

In  American  production  it  is  the  aim  of  the  director  to  keep  his 
leading  players  as  close  to  the  front  line  as  possible,  and  for  prac- 
tical playing  purposes  the  stage  consists  of  a  space  six  feet  wide 
and  about  four  feet  deep.  There  all  of  the  important  action  must 
occur  so  that  the  figures  may  be  large  and  the  expressions  distinct 
This  small  stage  makes  it  necessary  to  cut  off  the  legs  of  the  play- 
ers and  sometimes  the  top  of  their  heads.  It  is  inartistic,  but  it 
is  what  is  demanded,  so  the  photographic  stage  holds  all  the  action 
though,  in  exteriors  scenes,  especially,  the  actual  stage  may  be 
vastly  larger. 

The  scene  is  played  through  before  the  camera  and  the  next 
rehearsed  and  taken  until  all  the  scenes  in  that  set  are  made. 
Then  the  players  may  rest  while  a  new  set  is  made  or  they  may 
go  out  and  take  some  of  the  outside  scenes,  appropriate  loca- 
tions having  been  selected  by  the  director's  assistant. 

The  exposed  film  is  sent  to  the  developing  room  where  it  is 
developed  and  one  print  made  of  each  scene.  In  the  meantime 
the  leader  room  has  had  a  list  of  all  leaders  and  inserts.  These 
are  written,  printed  or  painted  as  may  be  required  and  these  are 
printed  along  with  the  other  negative.  From  this  first  print  the 
director  or  someone  else  joins  up  the  print.  Starting  with  the  title 
the  first  scene  is  cemented  on  and  the  scenes  added  in  their  proper 
order,  all  inserts  and  cut-in  leaders  being  put  in  their  place. 

The  first  print,  properly  joined  goes  to  the  cutting  room  where 
the  film  is  edited.  Here  the  print  is  repeatedly  run  through  the 
projector  and  the  small  details  are  made  right.  Scenes  that  are  at 
fault  are  condemned  and  retakes  are  ordered.  Loose  ends  are  cut 


TOOLS  OF  THE  TRADE  23 

out  and  leader  is  removed  or  added  as  circumstances  may  seem 
to  require.  The  approved  print  goes  back  to  the  negative  depart- 
ment where  the  negative  is  marked  exactly  to  correspond  with  the 
first  print  and  sent  to  the  printing  room  where  the  necessary 
number  of  prints  are  made  from  each  piece.  These  are  sent  to 
the  joining  room  where  girls  cement  or  splice  the  scenes  together, 
after  which  the  reels  are  inspected  and  if  properly  joined  are 
shipped  to  the  exchanges. 

You  have  ceased  to  be  a  manuscript.    You  have  become  a  film. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

TOOLS    OF   THE    TRADE 

What  is  required — the  proper  paper — necessity  for  typewrit- 
ing— envelopes — manuscript  record — mailing  the  script- 
things  to  be  avoided. 

Having  gained  some  knowledge  of  technical  terms  and  an  idea 
of  studio  methods,  we  are  ready  to  turn  our  attention  to  the  mak- 
ing of  the  script,  but  a  good  workman  needs  good  tools  and  while 
the  tools  of  the  photoplay  trade  are  few,  it  is  important  that  they 
be  good. 

A  manuscript  written  on  butcher's  wrapping  paper  in  red  ink 
may  be  a  literary  gem,  but  as  a  rule  it's  unlikely  that  the  script 
will  repay  reading  and  so  it  will  be  passed  over.  It  is  argued  that 
the  man  who  knows  how  to  write  a  good  script  knows  also  how 
to  give  that  script  the  proper  attention.  So  small  a  thing  as  a 
paper  too  thin  may  spoil  the  chances  of  acceptance. 

Today  a  typewriter  is  the  first  essential.  When  the  demand  for 
good  stories  greatly  exceeded  the  supply,  the  editors  were  willing 
to  read  the  script  so  long  as  it  was  written  in  ink  and  with  a 
fairly  legible  hand.  There  was  always  the  hope  of  finding  a  new 
idea,  but  now  that  time  is  passed  and  it  is  very  logically  argued 
that  the  man  who  does  not  know  enough  to  have  his  manuscript 
typed  does  not  know  enough  to  hit  upon  a  good  idea. 

It  is  possible  to  have  the  manuscript  typed  by  some  professional 
stenographer  for  ten  or  fifteen  cents  a  page,  but  it  is  far  better  to 
do  your  own  work  and  it  is  by  no  means  as  difficult  as  it  seems  to 
a  person  who  has  never  tried. 

It  is  recommended  that  a  machine  be  hired  for  a  time.  Every 
city  has  rental  agencies  where  a  machine  may  be  hired  for  five 
dollars  for  three  months.  Generally  this  first  deposit  may  apply 


24  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

to  the  purchase  price  if  you  later  wish  to  buy  the  machine  for 
cash  or  on  time  payments.  This  machine  will  be  plenty  good 
enough  to  learn  upon  and  when  you  are  really  proficient,  you  can 
make  a  choice  of  a  new  machine  or  get  a  better  "rebuilt"  machine. 

All  makes  of  machines  are  good  provided  that  you  get  a  ma- 
chine that  in  new  condition  costs  $50  or  more.  Most  of  the  good 
ones  cost  $100.  Visit  a  rental  agency,  pick  out  a  machine  that  ap- 
peals to  you.  Try  it  for  a  time  and  if  you  do  not  like  the  make 
take  it  back  and  get  another  until  you  find  one  that  does  suit  you. 
It  is  recommended  that  one  with  visible  writing  be  selected,  but 
it  is  not  so  important  whether  it  have  one  or  two  shift  keys.  The 
one  shift  keyboard  is  simpler  but  the  use  of  two  shifts  is  not 
found  confusing  by  most  writers.  The  single  shift  carries  an 
extra  row  of  keys,  and  but  two  instead  of  three  characters  to 
each  key. 

The  main  thing  in  learning  is  to  avoid  developing  bad  habits. 
Wihen  you  get  the  machine  get  a  book  on  the  touch  system.  This 
will  enable  you  to  use  more  than  one  finger  on  each  hand  and  to 
watch  your  work  instead  of  the  keys.  The  touch  system  is  the 
only  one  for  writers  and  you  will  develop  proficiency  in  a  short 
time  if  you  keep  at  it. 

Use  black  record  ribbons.  There  are  two  kinds  of  ribbons, 
record  and  copying.  You  will  have  no  use  for  the  copying  ribbon. 
That  is  for  use  where  the  typed  letters  are  copied  into  a  letter 
book  with  wet  sheets.  The  ink  is  softer  and  smears  badly.  Get 
the  record  and  use  nothing  else.  The  record  ribbon  will  not  last 
so  long,  but  the  cost  is  comparatively  slight  and  it  is  worth  half 
a  dollar  every  two  months.  Do  not  use  a  ribbon  so  long  that  it 
writes  grey  instead  of  black.  Change  when  the  imprint  gets  light. 
Some  writers  cut  their  ribbon  into  two  pieces  and  always  have  a 
half  old  ribbon  and  a  half  new  one  on  the  machine,  using  the 
old  half  for  practice  and  the  new  for  copying.  Black  is  recom- 
mended because  it  is  easiest  read.  The  only  excuse  for  a  colored 
ribbon  is  when  you  use  a  colored  paper  and  ribbon  to  match,  but 
even  here  it  is  better  not  to  use  other  than  a  black  ribbon.  If  the 
machine  you  get  uses  the  two  color  ribons,  get  a  double  black  and 
when  the  upper  half  is  exhausted,  use  the  other  half;  getting 
double  use.  The  red  and  black  is  of  no  use  for  script  work  and 
leaders,  scenes,  etc.,  should  not  be  put  in  with  red. 

At  the  first,  at  any  rate,  it  is  best  to  stick  to  white  paper. 

The  paper  most  suitable  for  use  is  a  twenty  pound  bond.  This 
is  a  bond  paper  weighing  twenty  pounds  to  the  ream,  17  :by  22 
inches.  This  is  cut  into  fours  and  gives  four  sheets  each  8^1  by 
ii.  This  is  the  only  proper  size  of  paper  to  use.  A  very  few 


TOOLS  OF  THE  TRADE  25 

fiction  authors  use  paper  8^  by  $l/2  but  this  is  not  good  for 
scripts  .  The  usual  commercial  note  and  the  legal  &%  by  13  are 
equally  bad  and  the  8  by  10^2  looks  cheap  and  "skimpy."  Until 
you  need  a  lot  of  paper  it  is  better  to  get  it  by  the  box  of  500 
sheets,  but  when  you  get  fairly  into  the  writing  of  scripts,  it  will 
pay  you  to  go  to  some  paper  warehouse  and  order  a  full  ream  to 
be  cut  for  you.  The  saving  will  be  25  or  30%. 

Do  not  get  heavier  than  twenty  pound  paper  because  a  heavier 
paper  will  increase  your  postage  bills  and  stamps  are  the  costliest 
item  at  best.  Do  not  use  lighter  because  you  will  not  get  a  paper 
that  will  stand  handling.  No  paper  should  be  so  thin  that  when 
one  sheet  is  laid  on  top  of  a  second,  the  writing  on  the  second 
shows  through.  The  paper  must  be  opaque  or  the  editor  will 
have  trouble  reading  it  and  is  inclined  to  return  it  unread. 

To  use  "onion  skin"  or  other  tissues  is  the  height  of  foolish- 
ness. These  tissues  are  made  for  use  where  a  large  number  of 
carbons  must  be  done  at  one  writing.  Some  beginners  use  it  to 
save  postage,  but  there  is  no  saving  effected  where  your  scripts 
are  not  read.  Onion  skin  should  never  be  allowed  in  the  work- 
shop of  the  author. 

For  carbon  copies  get  the  carbon  second  sheets.  This  paper  is 
thin  but  since  it  is  purely  for  home  use  it  does  not  matter.  It 
will  cost  from  forty  cents  for  five  hundred  sheets  down  to  about 
twenty.  It  is  best  to  get  a  yellow  or  manila  paper  for  your  car- 
bons, then  if  you  are  careful  to  face  your  carbon  to  the  colored 
paper  you  can  never  get  your  carbon  in  wrong.  This  seems  a 
slight  matter,  but  it  is  one  of  the  little  tricks  that  will  save  time 
and  trouble. 

You  will  need  carbon  paper  to  match  your  carbon  sheets.  Some 
papers  require  a  soft  carbon  paper  and  others  work  better  with 
the  hard  finish.  Get  a  couple  of  sheets  of  each  to  test  and  buy  in 
larger  quantities  later  on.  If  you  make  more  than  two  carbon 
copies  you  will  have  to  use  the  soft  carbon  paper  for  the  lower 
sheets  in  the  pack,  but  it  is  not  probable  that  you  will  make  more 
than  a  single  carbon. 

Get  two  sizes  of  envelopes,  known  to  the  trade  as  No.  10  and 
n,  unless  you  can  find  a  ten  and  a  half.  Do  not  use  white  en- 
velopes. These  look  nicer,  but  unless  you  get  an  expensive  grade 
of  bond  paper  envelope  or  use  the  costly  cloth  lined  envelopes, 
the  white  paper  should  not  be  used.  The  powerful  bleaching 
agents  employed  to  get  the  white  rots  the  paper  and  the  envelope 
does  not  hold  together  in  the  mail  as  well  as  a  manila  or  craft 
paper.  These  latter  range  in  price  all  the  way  from  thirty  to 
sixty  cents  a  hundred. 


26  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Just  as  the  ST/4  by  n  paper  is  the  only  size  to  use,  so  are  the 
ten  and  eleven  envelopes  the  only  proper  sizes.  The  smaller  No. 
9  will  just  hold  a  small  script,  but  they  are  unhandy.  Larger 
sizes  will  not  travel  well.  Do  not,  in  any  circumstances,  use 
photomailers,  as  some  still  do. 

Printed  paper  is  an  expensive  luxury,  not  a  necessity,  more 
especially  at  the  first.  Instead  get  a  rubber  stamp  with  your  name 
in  a  12  point  gothic  or  other  plain  type  and  the  address  in  ten 
point.  Do  not  get  smaller  sizes,  and  avoid  fancy  type  faces. 
Legibility  is  to  be  desired  rather  than  ornamentation. 

A  typewriter  eraser,  some  clips  and  a  supply  of  postage  stamps 
will  complete  your  initial  outfit.  Do  not,  at  the  start,  get  a 
cheap  spring  postal  scales.  Get  your  letters  weighed  at  the  post 
office  until  your  business  warrants  the  purchase  of  a  regular  post 
office  scale  with  a  beam  and  sliding  weight  instead  of  a  spring 
and  pointer.  The  scale  will  cost  you  three  dollars,  but  you'll 
save  that  in  postage  in  a  couple  of  years  if  you  send  much  out. 

Later  on  you  will  need  some  sort  of  manuscript  record,  but  at 
the  start  you'll  know  the  history  of  each  script  by  heart.  Many 
systems  have  been  devised,  but  one  that  has  given  satisfaction  to 
this  writer  for  the  past  twenty  years  is  in  use  by  many  prominent 
fiction  and  photoplay  writers  and  gives  general  satisfaction. 

Get  one  of  the  wooden  card-file  boxes  that  may  be  had  of  al- 
most any  stationer  for  fifty  cents.  With  the  box  you  get  one  hun- 
dred record  cards  and  twenty-five  index  cards  with  tabs  rising 
above  the  edge  for  one-fifth  the  length  of  the  card.  Procure  also 
a  ten-cent  dating  stamp. 

Reverse  these  index  cards  so  that  the  blank  face  is  presented 
to  the  front  of  the  box.  On  the  first  of  these  write  "Live."  The 
back  card  should  be  lettered  "Paid"  and  the  one  just  before  that 
"Accepted."  Letter  the  others  with  the  names  of  the  companies 
with  which  you  hope  to  do  business. 

Give  each  script  a  number.  If  you  do  not  wish  to  start  with 
number  one,  start  with  51  or  101,  but  after  that  number  in  con- 
secutive order. 

Put  this  number  on  your  script  and  number  one  of  the  white 
record  cards.  These  cards  have  a  red  line  at  the  top  and  then  ten 
blue  lines.  Number  at  the  left  hand  side  of  the  top,  above  the  red 
line.  Then  type  in  the  title  of  the  story.  On  the  first  blue  line 
type  the  name  of  the  company  most  likely  to  accept  that  style  of 
story.  On  the  second  that  of  the  next  most  likely  company  is 
written  and  so  until  you  have  exhausted  the  list  of  likely  buyers 
or  have  written  the  ten  names.  Send  the  story  to  the  studio  first 
on  the  list  and  with  the  dating  stamp  mark  in  the  date. 


TOOLS  OF  THE  TRADE  27 

Suppose  that  you  send  it  first  to  the  Vitagraph.  That  name 
comes  first  on  the  list,  so  you  send  the  story  there  and  stamp  the 
date  of  sending.  It  went  out  December  6th  and  came  back  the 
tenth.  You  stamp  the  date  of  return  and  find  that  Lubin  is  the 
next  choice.  You  send  the  script  to  Lubin  and  stamp  the  date 
there.  It  comes  back  from  there  and  goes  to  Edison  only  to 
come  back  again,  but  Essanay,  the  fourth  choice  accepts  it. 

Each  time  you  send  out  you  change  the  card.  At  first  it  lies  in 
the  Vitagraph  division,  it  is  moved  in  turn  to  Lubin,  Edison  and 
Essanay  divisions  and  when  Essanay  writes  you  that  they  will  pay 
you  $20  for  it,  you  take  it  out  of  Essanay  and  put  it  under 
"Accepted."  When  the  check  comes  you  take  it  out  of  "Accepted" 
and  permanently  file  it  under  "Paid."  At  the  same  time  you  take  a 
white  card  and  mark  it  Essanay.  On  the  first  blue  line  you  write 
the  number  of  the  story,  the  date  and  the  amount.  In  the  course 
of  time  you  will  have  a  record  of  all  the  sales  you  have  made  to 
Essanay  and  a  quick  reference  to  the  "Paid"  division  will  tell 
just  what  stories  they  were.  When  all  these  transactions  have 
been  completed,  your  card  shows  the  complete  history  of  the 
script.  If  you  want  to  enlarge  the  system  to  a  higher  degree  get 
a  pack  of  colored  cards  (you  can  get  a  choice  of  six  or  eight 
colors),  and  give  each  division  one  of  these  colored  cards.  Put 
down  the  number  of  each  story  sent,  the  date  of  going  and  re- 
turn. Presently  you  will  have  a  record  of  your  Essanay  or  Edison 
transactions  and  can  tell  from  these  cards  how  much  you  have 
sent,  what  proportion  you  have  sold,  how  much  you  get  on  the 
average  and  how  long  it  takes  them  to  handle  a  story  when  it  is 
returned  and  when  they  accept.  Your  story  record  card  will  look 
something  like  this : 

123 —  Going  Home  to  Mother  Half  reel  farce 


Vitagraph 

Dec    6  1912 

Dec  10  1912 

Ldbin 

Dec  10  1912 

Dec  28  1912 

Edison 

Dec  30  1912 

Feb    6  1913 

Essanay 

Feb    6  1913 

Reliance 

Imp 

Accepted   Mar 

4  1913    $20 

Keystone 

Paid  Mar 

16  1913 

Under  this  system  there  is  no  danger  of  sending  the  same  script 
to  the  same  company  twice  unless  it  is  your  intention  to  do  so. 
It  is  simpler  than  using  the  alphabetical  file,  and  more  satisfactory 
in  many  ways.  Scripts  that  come  in  and  are  not  immediately 
sent  out  again  are  held  under  "Live,"  where  they  are  under  your 
notice,  and  by  watching  your  "Accepted"  division  you  know  what 


28  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

is  due  and  from  whom.  By  filing  the  stories  out  under  companies 
you  know  what  each  one  has  at  any  time. 

Your  carbon  copies  can  be  filed  in  a  cheap  pasteboard  letter  file 
with  the  file  divisions  removed,  the  carbons  being  filed  in  numeri- 
cal order,  or  each  carbon  can  be  folded  and  filed  in  a  cheap  grade 
manila  envelope  and  these  kept  in  a  drawer  in  regular  order. 

Some  writers  use  the  envelope  to  carry  the  history  of  the 
script,  all  data  being  written  on  the  face  of  the  envelope,  but  this 
system  is  less  flexible.  Other  systems  are  advocated  using  printed 
cards  or  envelopes,  but  no  provision  is  made  in  these  for  remov- 
ing dead  names  or  adding  live  ones  and  printed  cards  or  envelopes 
are  not  recommended. 

Manuscript  covers  are  not  generally  used.  They  frequently 
add  to  the  postage  cost,  but  they  undoubtedly  save  the  script  from 
rough  usage.  Cover  paper  is  a  stout  paper  coming  in  a  dozen 
different  shades.  The  paper  comes  nine  by  fifteen  inches  and 
should  be  cut  to  nine  by  .twelve  and  one-quarter.  Turn  over  one 
inch  of  the  paper  at  the  top  and  clip  all  the  white  sheets  under 
this  fold,  then  fold  as  usual.  The  back  may  be  printed  or  filled  in 
with  typewritten  data.  Here  is  a  good  form : 

Title  of  story  here. 
Farce         Comedy         Drama 
Interior  scenes  in  sets 

Exterior  scenes  in          locations 
Busts 

Total  scenes 

The  name  and  address  of  the  author  can  follow.  One  writer 
who  uses  printed  covers  adds  a  list  of  possible  causes  for  rejec- 
tion and  requests  that  one  be  checked. 

In  filling,  in  the  above  form,  a  hyphen  will  give  you  farce — 
comedy  or  comedy-drama,  making  five  combinations,  the  others 
being  crossed  off.  Below  you  state  the  number  of  scenes  the  sets 
or  locations,  bust  scenes  and  the  total  number  of  scenes. 

Fancy  covers,  printed  stationery  and  other  wrinkles  of  this 
sort  should  be  left  alone  until  you  are  satisfied  that  you  can  sell 
and  keep  on  selling.  Until  then  back  your  script  with  a  sheet  of 
plain  typewriter  paper  and  put  another  sheet  in  front  with  only 
the  title  of  the  story,  your  name  and  address.  These  sheets  will 
take  up  the  wear  and  tear  and  save  you  the  labor  of  much  copy- 
ing. They  can  be  replaced  after  each  return  and  the  script  sent 
out  looking  fresh. 


TOOLS  OF  THE  TRADE  29 

We  are  rather  anticipating  the  writing  of  the  script,  but  mail- 
ing the  script  may  as  well  be  described  here. 

Back  your  manuscript  in  one  of  the  ways  described  and  clip  all 
together  with  a  single  Niagara  clip.  Use  only  one.  Any  other 
form  of  clip  may  be  used  that  does  not  perforate  the  paper  as  does 
the  OK  and  similar  clips.  Do  not  use  a  staple,  McGill  or  similar 
fastener  or  bind  the  paper  permanently  in  any  form.  Put  the 
clip  at  the  top  of  the  sheets  and  not  at  the  side.  Above  all,  do 
not  sew  or  glue  the  sheets  together  into  book  form.  The  Editor 
can  read  the  story  best  by  slipping  off  the  clip  and  handling  the 
loose  sheets.  It  will  also  avoid  the  crumpling  of  your  script  and 
ensure  its  return  in  the  best  possible  shape. 

The  last  thing  before  your  clip  is  put  on  assure  yourself  that 
the  sheets  are  in  their  proper  order.  Do  not  mix  them  up  to  see 
if  they  have  been  read.  The  editor  has  to  read  only  the  synopsis 
to  tell  if  he  does  not  want  the  script. 

Fold  the  script  twice,  into  thirds,  making  a  package  8^  by  3^ 
inches  and  slip  this  into  a  number  ten  envelope  addressed  to 
yourself  and  carrying  a  two  cent  stamp.  Do  not  seal  this  en- 
velope and  do  not  tuck  the  flap  in. 

Place  this  envelope,  Hap  down,  into  a  larger  envelope ;  the  num- 
ber eleven.  By  placing  the  flap  down  there  is  less  danger  of  the 
sharp  letter  opener  mutilating  the  return  envelope.  Seal  the 
number  eleven  and  address  it  to  the  manuscript  department  of 
the  firm  to  which  you  wish  to  send  it.  Do  not  address  this  en- 
velope to  the  Editor  personally,  to  the  director  or  to  any  member 
of  the  firm.  It  will  not  help  any  and  may  delay  the  reading. 

Make  absolutely  certain,  by  weighing,  and  by  no  other  way, 
that  the  envelope  is  sufficiently  well  provided  with  stamps.  Some 
companies  will  not  accept  underpaid  matter  from  the  post  office. 

Manuscript  classes  as  first  class  or  letter  mail,  the  postage  on 
which  is  two  cents  for  each  ounce  or  fraction  of  an  ounce.  If 
your  script  does  not  weigh  an  ounce  and  a  half,  but  is  over  one 
ounce,  put  on  four  cents,  do  not  put  on  three  cents.  The  post- 
age is  either  two,  or  four  or  six  cents,  etc. 

Do  not  under  any  circumstances  nor  at  any  time,  ever,  for  any 
possible  or  conceivable  reason,  roll  your  manuscript,  and  do  not 
write  on  both  sides  of  a  sheet  of  paper.  If  you  must  add  even 
one  line,  do  not  turn  the  sheet  over,  take  a  fresh  sheet. 

You  may  send  two  or  more  scripts  in  the  same  envelope,  but 
provide  a  return  cover  for  each  script.  They  may  desire  to  retain 
one  script  and  return  the  other. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  send  a  letter  with  your  script.  The  editor 
knows  that  you  are  sending  him  the  script  in  the  hope  that  he  will 
buy  it.  He  knows  that  without  being  told.  You  have  nothing 


30  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

else  to  tell  the  Editor.  Do  not  spoil  your  chances  of  acceptance 
by  writing  gushy  letters  and  do  not  try  the  sympathetic  appeal 
by  telling  the  Editor  that  you  are  trying  to  pay  your  way  through 
college  or  you  want  to  earn  enough  money  to  buy  mother  a 
wooden  leg.  The  studio  is  not  a  charitable  bureau  and  the  Editor 
will  think  you  are  untruthful,  so  don't  write. 

Above  all  things,  do  not  write  that  it  is  a  "true"  story.  He  can 
see  whether  or  not  it  is  a  good  story  and  that  is  all  he  wants 
to  know. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    FORM    OF   THE    PHOTOPLAY 

The  three  divisions  of  photoplay  form — the  synopsis — the 
cast — the  action — the  need  for  a  brief  synopsis — synopses 
only — the  scene  plot. 

Photoplay  form  is  not  a  printed  blank  form  on  which  plays 
should  be  written  as  many  seem  to  suppose  from  the  letters  they 
send  asking  for  some  of  the  forms.  Photoplay  form  is  merely  the 
form  in  which  the  photoplay  should  be  written.  This  form  varies 
slightly  in  the  different  studios,  but  the  form  here  given  is  the 
one  most  generally  used  with  such  slight  variations  as  the  per- 
sonal preference  of  the  editor  or  director  may  dictate. 

The  three  essentials  of  the  photoplay  are  the  Synopsis,  the  Cast 
and  the  Plot  of  Action.  Some  studios  require  a  property  plot  and 
writers,  who  are  reasonably  certain  that  their  plays  will  be  fol- 
lowed add  a  scene  plot  for  the  convenience  of  the  director,  but 
the  synopsis,  cast  and  plot  of  action  only  are  essential.  The  scene 
and  property  plots  are  useless  unless  prepared  by  one  who  un- 
derstands precisely  what  is  wanted  and  a  scene  plot  is  useless, 
save  to  give  a  hint  as  to  the  number  of  scenes,  unless  the  play  is 
so  developed  that  the  director  follows  the  script  exactly. 

It  is  customary  to  write  the  plot  of  action  first  and  the  synopsis 
afterward,  and  it  is  best  to  follow  this  plan  even  in  clean  copy- 
ing the  rough  script,  since  some  good  point  may  suggest  itself 
even  at  the  last  moment.  In  any  event  the  plot  of  action  should 
start  on  a  fresh  page.  It  is  not  necessary  to  number  these  pages 
as  the  scene  numbers  answer  the  purpose  as  well. 

In  preparing  the  synopsis  page,  type  your  name  and  address  in 
the  upper  left  hand  corner  and  in  the  right  hand  corner  either  state 
that  the  manuscript  is  offered  "At  usual  rates"  or  state  that  it  is 
"Offered  at  $25"  or  whatever  value  you  place  upon  it.  You  must 


TOOLS  OF  THE  TRADE  31 

cither  offer  at  usual  rates  or  state  your  price.  Do  not  ask  for  an 
offer.  Now  and  then  an  Editor  will  negotiate  as  to  price,  but  as 
a  rule  the  manuscript  that  is  submitted  subject  to  agreement  as  to 
price  is  returned  without  a  reading. 

At  usual  rates  means  that  you  send  the  script  for  sale  subject 
to  whatever  price  the  company  may  decide  the  script  to  be  worth. 
Most  of  the  professional  authors  follow  this  plan  because  most 
of  them  have  found  that  they  profit  in  the  long  run.  They  may 
get  less  for  one  story  than  they  think  it  is  worth,  but  on  the  other 
hand  a  story  often  brings  more  than  the  anticipated  sum. 

You  have  your  name  and  address  in  one  corner  and  "At  usual 
rates"  in  the  other.  In  writing  your  name  and  address  (use  a 
rubber  stamp  if  you  have  one)  write  the  first  character  of  the 
second  line  under  the  first  character  of  your  name  and  do  not 
string  it  out  as  in  addressing  a  letter.  The  top  of  the  sheet  will 
look  like  this : 

JOHN  E.  JONES, 

453  Blank  street,  At  usual  rates 

Nowhere,  N.  Y. 

Now  turn  your  platen  until  you  get  the  paper  to  a  point  where  the 
line  is  an  inch  and  a  half  or  two  inches  from  the  top  of  your 
sheet.  Write  your  title,  not  in  capital  letters,  but  with  a  capital 
to  start  each  important  word,  keeping  the  two  and  three  letter 
words  in  lower  case.  The  all  capital  line  is  not  as  easy  to  read. 
It  is  better  to  gain  emphasis  by  underlining  the  title  with  the 
proper  character. 

The  title  should  be  printed  in  the  centre  of  the  page.  If  you 
have  experience  you  may  be  able  to  do  this  off  hand,  but  unless 
you  are  able,  you  will  find  this  rule  handy :  Count  each  letter  and 
space  in  the  title.  Substract  this  from  the  number  of  spaces  your 
machine  writes.  Divide  what  remains  by  two,  add  one  and  start 
the  first  character  there.  , 

Suppose  that  your  title  is  Going  Home  to  Mother.  That  is 
twenty  letters  and  spaces.  Twenty  from  seventy-five  leaves  fifty- 
five.  Half  of  that  is  twenty-seven  and  a  half.  Call  it  twenty- 
seven,  add  one  and  start  the  G  on  space  twenty-eight  on  your  scale. 

If  you  wish  you  can  give  a  brief  announcement  under  the  title 
such  as : 

A  farce  comedy  in  19  scenes,  requiring  3  interior  scenes 
and  8  exterior  locations. 


32  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

This  is  not  required,  but  it  gives  the  Editor  some  idea  of  what 
is  needed  in  the  way  of  settings.  You  might  amplify  this  a  little 
and  say : 

A  farce  comedy  in  19  scenes;  5  in  3  interior  sets;    14   in  8 
exterior  locations. 

Now  turn  up  four  spaces,  or  lines,  write  the  word  Synopsis, 
turn  two  more  spaces  and  start  the  synopsis. 

But  first  let's  get  a  clear  understanding  of  just  what  the 
synopsis  is  and  what  it  should  not  be.  When  you  pick  up  a 
newspaper  you  see  in  large  type  certain  lines  that  give  you  at  a 
glance  the  real  meat  of  the  article.  It's  a  synopsis  of  that  news- 
paper story.  It  says  perhaps  "Twenty  persons  killed."  It  doesn't 
give  their  names  unless  one  or  more  of  the  victims  are  of  un- 
usual prominence.  It  just  says  that  twenty  persons  are  killed.  If 
you  wish  to  know  who  they  are,  you  must  read  the  story.  The 
fact  that  twenty  persons  were  killed  makes  the  story  more  in- 
teresting than  if  there  had  .been  no  loss  of  life. 

Now  that's  just  about  what  your  synopsis  should  be,  but  since 
you  have  250  words  instead  of  perhaps  50  and  do  not  need  to 
break  up  your  heading  into  sections  or  "decks,"  you  can  make  it 
more  of  a  running  story,  but  you  plan  your  synopsis  on  the  same 
lines.  You  say  that  twenty  persons  are  killed,  but  you  do  not  use 
just  that  line.  Perhaps  Jim  gets  in  a  tight  place  and  gets  out 
again  in  a  clever  way.  You  do  not  give  every  detail  -of  how  Jim 
gets  out  of  trouble.  You  have  not  the  space  to  tell  all  the  de- 
tails. You  say  instead :  Jim  gets  his  father  to  pretend  to  make 
love  to  Nell  and  by  pretending  to  be  jealous  brings  about  a 
quarrel  that  makes  Nell  forget  her  suspicions.  That's  the  big 
fact.  You  don't  have  to  tell  in  the  synopsis  just  how  Jim  goes 
about  it  and  precisely  how  the  father  makes  love. 

In  a  word  your  synopsis  is  not  a  fiction  form  of  your  action 
story.  It  is  just  a  sort  of  advertisement  of  that  story  so  briefly 
told  that  the  Editor  can  get  the  idea  in  a  minute  or  two.  If  he 
likes  the  idea  he'll  read  the  action  and  if  the  action  bears  out  the 
promise  of  the  synopsis,  he'll  buy  the  story.  Make  it  snappy,  point 
to  all  the  good  things,  but  don't  make  it  windy  and  draggy.  Make 
it  short  and  attractive.  Word  it  to  get  the  interest  of  the 
reader,  whether  he  is  Editor  or  producer. 

Some  writers  make  a  sort  of  synopsis  of  the  synopsis.  They 
start  off  with  a  couple  of  lines,  something  like  this : 


THE  FORM  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY  33 

A  happy  little  farce  comedy.     Maudie  quarrels  with  Perdie 
and  goes  right  home  to  her  Ma,  but  Ma  doesn't  want  her  because 
she  is  planning  to  marry  Major  Webb,  so  Maudie  goes  back  to 
Ferdie  and  everybody's  happy. 

Now  they  follow  with  a  little  more  detail,  and  give  a  few  of 
the  facts,  something  like  this : 

Maudie  hasn't  been  married  very  long  and  she  can't  get  used 
to  having  Perdie  read  the  baseball  page  at  the  breakfast  table, 
so  one  morning  she  tears  up  the  paper  before  he  gets  a  chance 
to  see  if  the  home  team's  crack  pitcher  is  better  or  dead. 
That  would  make  any  fan  mad,   and  you  can't  blame  Perdie  for 
breaking  a  few  dishes  and  saying  a  few  things.     It's  the  first 
quarrel  and  off  Maudie  goes  to  Ma.     She  expects  to  cry  all 
her  sorrows  out  on  the  maternal  shoulder,  but  Ma  is  busy. 
She's  a  widow  and  not  so  old.     Now  that  Maudie  is  off  her  hands 
she  has  a  chance  to  marry  Major  Webb.     Maudie  gets  home  so 
late  that  night  that  Ferdie  does  not  know  of  her  return.     She 
hides  when  he  comes  down  to  breakfast,  but  when  Perdie  finds 
the  paper  propped  up  against  the  carafe  and  open  at  the  sport- 
ing page  he  guesses  the  rest  and  for  once  he  forgets  to  read 
the  paper  in  his  delight  at  getting  Maudie  back. 

Don't  you  think  that  a  synopsis  like  this  would  interest  the 
Editor  more  than  a  story  that  starts  off  "Ferdie,  a  rich  young 
broker,  marries  Maude,  the  daughter  of  Mrs.  Sprague,  a  widow. 
Ferdie  is  a  baseball  fan  and  we  see  him  in  the  first  scene  sitting 
at  the  breakfast  table  reading  the  paper  and  hardly  speaking  to 
Maude.  When  she  speaks  to  him  he  gets  angry.  The  next  scene 
shows  the  same  thing  the  next  morning.  Maude  tries  to  get  him 
to  talk  and  when  he  will  not,  she  tears  up  his  paper.  He  gets 
mad  and  smashes  the  dishes  and  things,  the  maid  comes  in  and  he 
throws  a  roll  at  her.  She  runs  out  and  Ferdie  goes  off  to  the 
office  without  kissing  Maude.  She  cries  and  decides  to  go  home 
to  her  mother/'  etc. 

Keep  it  terse  and  you'll  not  complain  that  your  story  has  not 
been  read.  It  will  be  read  and  read  with  interest  if  you  make  it 
interesting,  but  when  the  Editor  starts  to  read  he  may  have  three 
or  four  hundred  scripts  that  have  accumulated  and  he  has  not 
the  time  to  wade  through  two  or  three  pages  of  synopsis.  He 
wants  the  main  points  of  the  story  at  a  glance. 

A  limit  of  250  words  is  set  in  most  studios  and  in  some  the 
long  synopsis  will  be  returned  with  a  request  for  the  shorter 
length.  The  250  word  limit  was  first  used  by  the  Edison  com- 
pany because  all  of  its  Editors  received  a  copy  of  the  synopsis  of 


34  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

each  likely  story.  Other  studios  took  up  the  limit  as  a  convenient 
standard  and  because  any  one  reel  story  and  most  two  and  three 
reel  stories  can  be  fully  covered  in  that  length.  The  synopsis  of 
the  multiple  reel  story  may  run  slightly  longer  if  it  is  necessary, 
but  it  should  not  be  necessary. 

Occasionally  a  company  will  advertise  for  synopses  only.  In 
this  case  some  studio  writer  develops  the  plots  into  a  working 
script  and  the  plot  of  action  is  not  sent.  In  such  a  case  it  is 
permissible  to  exceed  250  word  limit  and  run  a  thousand  if  neces- 
sary to  get  the  idea  over  clearly. 

Short  synopses  should  be  single  spaced.  The  synopsis,  when 
sent  alone,  should  be  double  spaced. 

One  great  fault  of  the  beginner  is  to  put  only  into  the  synopsis 
the  explanations  that  should  appear  in  action  or  leader  in  the 
plot  of  action.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  a  third  of  the  scripts  re- 
ceived at  any  studio  will  carry  points  in  the  synopsis  that  are  not 
in  the  action  at  all  and  which  must  be  put  in  by  the  Editor  or 
producer  if  the  script  is  accepted.  It  should  be  remembered 
that  the  Editor  and  the  producer  are  the  only  persons  who  see 
the  synopsis  and  that  the  audiences  are  also  entitled  to  this  in- 
formation. If  you  say  that  Jane  marries  John  because  she  has 
quarreled  with  Harry,  show  the  quarrel  and  add  in  a  leader  that 
Jane  acepts  John  in  a  fit  of  anger.  The  producer  can  put  it  into 
the  action  when  he  finds  it  in  the  synopsis;  he  must  in  order  to 
have  the  story  clear,  but  it  is  your  business  to  do  that  work. 
That  is  what  you  are  paid  to  do. 

It  is  a  good  plan,  where  possible,  to  get  some  frank  and  intelli- 
gent friend  to  read  the  action  without  having  any  knowledge  of 
the  synopsis,  and  see  if  the  action  tells  the  full  story. 

The  cast  is  pretty  much  the  same  as  the  program  of  a  dra- 
matic performance  save  that  if  necessary  you  add  a  suggestion  as 
to  the  type  of  character.  You  do  not  merely  say  that  John  Smith 
is  Jim's  father  if  it  is  important  to  the  story  that  Smith  walks 
with  a  limp.  You  add  that  fact  in  the  cast,  but  if  it  is  clearly 
shown  in  the  script  that  John  Smith  is  quick  tempered  and  hasty, 
you  do  not  need  to  add  that  in  the  cast.  Some  casts  need  nothr- 
ing  more  than  the  names  of  the  players,  as  in  this  case: 

John- 
Mary- 

John's  father- 
Mary's  mother- 
Policeman- 
Maid- 
Messenger  boy- 


THE  FORM  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY  35 

Every  character  should  be  cast,  no  matter  how  unimportant, 
unless  a  crowd  is  used,  when  each  member  of  the  crowd  is  not 
indicated  but  merely  the  fact  that  a  crowd  is  needed. 

If  a  large  cast  is  employed  and  many  of  the  characters  appear 
but  once  or  twice,  it  is  well  to  number  the  scenes  in  which  they 
appear,  that  the  director  may  "double"  them,  having  one  player 
take  two  or  more  parts  with  the  aid  of  the  disguising  make-up. 
The  leading  characters,  the  first  four  or  five,  who  appear  in  a  ma- 
jority of  the  scenes,  are  not  numbered.  Only  the  minor  char- 
acters should  be  so  identified. 

Here  is  such  a  cast  properly  done. 

John  Smith- 
Mary  Morton- 
Henry  Smith- John' s  father. 
Anna-his  mother. 
Maid-in  3-9 
Cook-in  8-11-15 
Butler-in  8-9 
Letter  carrier-14 

If  the  director  is  working  with  a  small  company  he  knows  that 
he  can  have  the  same  woman  play  the  maid  and  the  cook  and 
that  the  same  man  can  be  the  smooth  shaven  butler  and  the 
bearded  postman. 

The  best  way  to  keep  track  of  these  appearances  is  to  keep  a 
slip  of  paper  beside  your  typewriter.  On  this  enter  the  name  of  a 
character  as  soon  as  used.  Then,  at  each  appearance  of  the 
minor  characters,  note  the  scene  number.  When  you  have  done 
you  have  a  list  of  the  characters  in  the  order  of  their  appear- 
ance. All  that  is  necessary  is  to  pick  out  the  leading  characters 
and  write  them  in  the  cast  first  and  then  follow  with  the  subor- 
dinate characters.  Do  not  attempt  to  double  the  characters. 
Leave  that  to  the  director.  And  if  you  have  in  mind  a  play  that 
will  just  suit  a  particular  company,  do  not  give  the  names  of  the 
persons  whom  you  desire  to  play  the  leading  roles. 

And  do  not  seek  to  impose  upon  the  director  your  exact  idea 
of  the  characters.  Sometimes  it  is  necessary  that  this  should  be 
done  where  a  character  must  be  of  a  certain  type,  but  do  not 
say  that  the  heroine  has  blue  eyes  and  blonde  hair  when  the  part 
would  suit  a  brunette  just  as  well,  and  do  not  ask  for  a  hero  six 
feet  tall  when  one  five  feet,  eleven  inches  will  be  just  as  good. 

If  you  use  the  scene  plot  keep  a  memorandum  of  the  scenes  on 
a  slip  as  advised  for  the  cast,  but  check  these  up  before  you  enter 
them  on  the  synopsis  page.  The  scene  plot  is  merely  a  list  of 


36  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

scenes  and  the  number  of  the  scenes  played  in  each.  For  con- 
venience the  interiors  and  the  exteriors  should  be  kept  separate. 
The  scenes  may  be  written  in  two  columns  or  one,  as  preferred. 
Where  there  are  many  and  the  space  is  limited,  it  is  better  to  use 
two  columns.  If  you  have  plenty  of  space  write  the  interiors  first 
and  then  give  the  exteriors.  Samples  of  both  of  these  are  given 
here.  The  reproduction  will  be  found  self  explanatory. 

Scene  plot 

Interior  Exterior 

Parlor-1-3-5  Street-7 

Library-2-4-9-11-13  Exterior  of  house-8-10-12 

Hallway-6-14-16  Lawn-15 

Shore  of  lake-17 
Boat  house-IB 

If  the  other  form  is  used,  it  will  look  like  this : 

Scene  plot 
Interior 
Parlor-1-3-5 
Library-2-4-9-11-13 
Hallway-6-14-16 

Exterior 
Street-7 

Exterior  of  house-8-10-12 
Lawn-15 

Shore  of  lake-17 
Boat  house-18 

If  the  director  follows  your  script  he  will  check  off  each  scene 
as  made  and  at  the  same  time  see  what  the  next  scene  is. 

If  you  have  several  scenes  showing  the  library  and  want  one 
of  these  to  show  just  a  corner  of  the  library  with  the  figures 
much  larger  than  would  be  possible  without  moving  the  camera, 
you  write  that  as  a  separate  scene,  for  a  scene  is  all  the  action 
that  may  be  taken  at  one  time  without  moving  the  camera  or 
stopping  the  turning.  The  camera  is  stopped  and  moved  for  the 
fireplace  so  we  have 

Library-3-7-9-12-14 

Close  up  of  corner  of  Bame-13 

It  is  not  recommended  that  a  property  list  be  written,  unless 
some  company  particularly  asks  for  it.  The  property  plot  lists  a.U 


THE  PLOT  OF  ACTION  37 

things  used  in  the  play  by  scenes.   Everything  used  in  this  scene 
must  be  called  for.    Here  is  a  sample  list  for  one  scene : 

PARLOR  IN  MAY'S  HOME-  Rugs-  round  table-  arm  chair-  sofa-  two 
armless  chairs-  cover  for  table-  books  for  same-  book  case- 
books for  same-  fancy  lamp  for  table-  vases  for  book  case-  one 
painting-  two  etchings-  wall  telephone-  sure  fire  revolver 
on  table-  sure   fire   revolver  for  John-  suit  case  for  maid- 
bottle  and  glasses  on  tray  off. 

Sure  fire  revolvers  means  that  the  weapons  are  to  be  dis- 
charged. The  bottles  and  glasses  are  "off"  because  they  are 
brought  into  the  scene  after  the  camera  is  started.  The  suitcase 
is  for  the  maid,  because,  while  it  belongs  to  John,  she  brings  it 
in,  and  the  property  man  must  give  the  "hand  properties"  or 
those  carried  to  the  person  indicated. 

Property  lists,  "director's  sheets"  and  similar  devices  are  fads 
of  no  real  value  when  prepared  by  the  beginner.  The  director's 
sheet  is  a  condensed  memorandum  of  the  action  by  scenes  and  is 
used  only  by  certain  men  who  profess  to  be  indifferent  to  the 
script  and  direct  "out  of  their  own  head." 

Properly  done  the  synopsis,  cast  and  scene  plot  will  all  go  on  a 
single  page.  If  necessary,  two  may  be  used,  but  it  should  not  be 
necessary. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   PLOT   OF  ACTION 

Necessity  for  orderly  arrangement — impossible  to  go  back — 
introducing  and  identifying  the  characters — the  start  and 
the  finish  important. 

Since  the  photoplay  is  a  story  told  in  action  instead  of  words, 
it  follows  that  the  story  must  be  fully  told  in  action  with  the  aid 
of  leaders  and  inserted  matter. 

If  you  were  writing  a  story  you  might  start  it  something  like 
this : 

"Then  you  do  not  love  me !   You  never  did  love  me !" 

Reginald  Montmorenci  cried  these  words  in  the  tones  of  one 
whose  heart  is  breaking  as  he  staggered  back  from  the  proud 
beauty  who  stood  facing  him,  cold  and  defiant. 

"No,"  was  Gwendolyn's  even  answer.  "It  is  perhaps  as  well  that 
you  should  know  the  truth  now.  I  do  not  love  you.  I  never  did 
love  you,  and  it  is  useless  to  hope  that  I  can  learn.  You  and  my 


38  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

parents  forced  me  into  this  hateful  marriage.  I  was  forced  into 
it,  sold  to  you,  if  you  will  have  it  that  way." 

Then  the  story  goes  backward  and  tells  all  about  Gwendolyn, 
about  Reginald,  about  Percy,  who  is  the  man  she  really  loves,  the 
courtship  of  Reginald  and  all  the  rest.  That's  possible,  because 
you  can  jump  about  as  much  as  you  like  in  a  book  and  merely 
explain  that  this  is  something  that  happened  five  years  ago. 

You  cannot  do  this  in  photoplay.  Photoplay  is  the  record  of 
life  and  when  properly  produced  it  seems  a  bit  of  life  itself.  To 
run  along  for  a  time  and  then  suddenly  explain  that  the  next 
scene  happened  a  week  ago  is  as  unreal  as  moving  last  Thursday 
over  into  next  Friday.  The  scene  that  happens  Friday  must  be 
shown  before  the  scene  that  happens  on  Saturday  and  you  must 
show  what  happened  at  nine  o'clock  before  that  which  happens 
at  half  past  ten.  If  you  do  not  you  will  get  your  audience  so 
badly  mixed  that  they  will  lose  interest  in  the  plot  and  vote  the 
play  tiresome.  You  must  start  with  your  first  scene,  show  each 
action  in  its  proper  place  clear  through  to  the  climax  and  then 
drop  the  play  as  quickly  as  possible.  You  cannot  explain  in  scene 
nineteen  that  along  about  scene  five  Jack  was  married  to  Mabel. 
Let  your  audience  see  the  marriage  if  you  would  have  the  matter 
understood. 

Not  only  must  each  scene  be  played  in  chronological  order,  but 
each  scene  should  aid  in  advancing  the  plot.  Do  not  write  in 
scenes  because  they  will  be  pretty  or  because  they  will  give  a 
thrill.  Write  the  essential  scenes  in  pretty  settings,  if  you  will, 
and  get  all  the  thrills  you  can  by  making  these  thrills  a  part  of 
the  actual  story. 

Before  you  start  to  write  the  script  think  out  your  action.  Get 
the  story  running  smoothly  in  your  mind  and,  until  you  have 
gained  experience,  it  is  better  to  write  out  a  reasonably  full 
scenario. 

And  please  note  we  use  scenario  in  its  proper  sense.  A  scenario 
is  a  brief  sketch  of  the  plot  of  a  story.  A  few  years  ago 
scenario  was  used  to  apply  to  all  photoplay  scripts,  but  the  use 
of  the  word  in  that  sense  is  incorrect.  It  is  one  of  the  misnomers 
brought  into  the  business  by  the  stage  managers  and  players. 

The  scenario  gives  you  a  general  idea  of  the  action  as  you  wish 
it  to  run,  but  it  is  a  running  story,  much  like  a  long  synopsis. 
Now  you  must  work  from  the  scenario  and  develop  the  plot  of 
action. 

Before  you  start  be  absolutely  certain  that  your  start  is  the 
proper  one.  You  have  only  fifteen  to  eighteen  minutes  at  best 
and  you  cannot  waste  time  on  a  lot  of  meaningless  scenes  that 
precede  the  real  start  of  the  story.  Start  with  the  first  scene 


THE   PLOT    OF  ACTION  39 

that  really  starts  to  tell  the  story  you  want  to  tell.  There  may  be 
a  lot  of  interesting  things  that  happened  before  that,  but  you 
have  not  the  time  in  which  to  tell  them.  Jump  right  into  the  story. 

Suppose  that  John  loves  Nell  but  can't  marry  her  until  he  can 
sell  his  invention  and  have  as  much  money  as  her  father  has. 
Don't  have  a  scene  showing  John  in  his  humble  home,  a  second 
in  Nell's  palatial  residence,  a  third  showing  John  starting  out  to 
meet  Nell,  a  fourth  showing  Nell  setting  forth  to  keep  the  ap- 
pointment and  a  fifth  showing  the  meeting.  Show  the  meeting  as 
the  first  scene.  His  clothes  and  hers  tell  of  their  different  sta- 
tions in  life  and  you'll  emphasize  this  later  when  you  have  real 
reason  to  show  the  two  homes. 

Suppose  that  you  run  the  scene  something  like  this.  John  and 
Nell  meet.  They  are  interrupted  by  Mr.  Morton,  Nell's  father, 
who  is  highly  indignant.  He  tells  John  that  if  he  catches  him 
with  Nell  again  he  will  have  him  thrashed,  bundles  Nell  into  the 
automobile  and  they  exit,  leaving  John  standing  there. 

Get  your  white  sheet  and  carbon  and  carbon  sheet  into  the  ma- 
chine and  put  down  your  name  and  address,  just  as  you  did  in 
the  synopsis  sheet.  You  do  not  repeat  "At  usual  rates." 

Below,  and  in  the  centre,  type  in  the  name  of  the  story.  Under 
that  write  Plot  of  Action.  Raise  the  roller  two  spaces.  Now 
change  your  left  hand  margin  stop  so  that  when  you  push  the 
carriage  up  you  stop  at  the  5  instead  of  the  o.  Now  with  the 
stop  there  press  the  margin  release  and  bring  the  carriage  so  that 
you  will  print  at  o  and  make  the  Arabic  figure  i.  Do  not  use 
Roman  numerals.  The  director  knows  that  XVIII  means  18,  but 
it  is  not  as  easy  to  read.  Try  and  keep  things  as  simple  as  pos- 
sible in  every  way.  Make  a  dash  after  the  figure  with  the  hyphen 
mark  and  then  write  in  the  important  action  of  that  first  scene. 
You  should  get  something  like  this : 

JOHN  E.  JONES, 
453  Blank  street, 
Nowhere,  N.  Y. 

The  Price  of  Pride 


Plot  of  Action 

1-    Park-  John  on-  impatient-  car  enters-  Nell  leaves  car- 
comes   to  John-   lovers'  greetings-  they  talk-  Morton 
enters  on  foot-  sees  Nell-  astonished-  comes  down-  speaks- 
angry-  John  does  not  reply-  Morton  threatens  with  cane- 
Nell  checks  him-  he  bundles  her  into  car-  car  off. 


40  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

That's  not  one-tenth  of  what  you  wanted  to  say  about  the 
scene,  and  it's  not  half  what  you  think  that  you  positively  must 
say,  perhaps,  but  it  is  all  you  need  to  say  for  you  have  told  the 
whole  scene  in  four  type-written  lines.  You  have  told  the  director 
all  he  needs  to  know  and  that  is  enough. 

The  director  knows  how  a  man  and  woman  in  love  with  each 
other  will  act  and  he  knows  how  a  cranky  old  father  will  act. 
You  tell  him  that  these  are  the  three  people  and  they  do  certain 
things.  You  leave  how  they  do  it  to  the  director,  telling  only 
what  is  done. 

You  see  but  one  period  used,  and  that  at  the  end  of  the  scene. 
Dashes  are  used  elsewhere.  There  are  two  reasons  for  this. 
One  is  that  you  do  not  have  to  stop  and  consider  punctuation  and 
the  other  is  that  by  using  a  dash  instead  of  a  punctuation  mark, 
you  can  clip  off  a  lot  of  unimportant  words.  You  are  not  trying 
to  write  fluent  phrase.  You  are  trying  to  tell  a  story  as  briefly 
as  possible  and  the  dash  not  only  saves  a  lot  of  connecting  words, 
but  it  chops  the  sentence  up  into  each  action.  If  you  will  study 
that  scene  closely  you  will  see  that  each  dash  follows  some  definite 
action.  Morton  enters  on  foot.  That  is  one  action.  He  sees 
Nell.  He  comes  down.  He  speaks  to  Nell.  He  grows  angry. 
Each  division  is  a  distinct  action. 

It  will  seem  difficult  at  first  to  write  with  such  extreme  brevity 
and  it  may  be  some  little  time  before  you  can  write  so  tersely 
and  get  everything  in,  but  it  will  come  with  practise  and  after  a 
time  you  will  find  it  very  easy.  At  the  start,  for  the  sake  of  prac- 
tice, let  the  action  run  as  it  will  and  then  see  how  much  you  can 
cut  it  down  without  taking  out  a  single  explanation. 

You  will  feel  that  you  should  have  told  how  John  kissed  Nell 
and  how  they  held  hands  until  she  gently  withdrew  hers.  You 
will  think  that  "lovers'  greetings"  is  far  too  little  to  get  down  the 
pretty  little  love  scene  you  have  in  mind,  but  you'll  find  that  the 
director  knows  what  lovers'  greetings  are,  and  if  he  doesn't  get 
your  love  scene  he  will  have  one  as  good  and  perhaps  better. 
There  is  one  thing  you  do  not  know  and  he  does.  He  knows  pre- 
cisely what  the  players  of  Nell  and  John  can  do  and  he  will  give 
them  stuff  that  they  can  play.  You  might  have  had  a  five  foot 
heroine  in  mind,  a  kittenish,  cuddlesome  little  thing.  His  lead- 
ing woman  may  be  five  feet  seven  and  that's  seven  inches  too  tall 
to  be  cuddlesome.  Your  business,  if  written  in  full,  would  have 
been  absurd.  If  you  had  written  this  so  that  it  had  to  be  played 
by  a  five  foot  soubrette,  you  would  not  have  sold  it  to  a  director 
with  a  five  foot  seven  woman  lead,  but  by  leaving  it  more  or 
less  impersonal  you  appeal  to  either. 

At  the  same  time,  if  you  have  a  scene  that  needs  ten  lines  or 
twenty  or  fifty  to  get  the  idea  over,  use  the  space.  The  measure 


THE  PLOT  OF  ACTION  41 

of  a  play  is  the  time  the  action  runs,  not  the  number  of  words. 

Remember,  too,  that  it  is  not  the  number  of  scenes  you  write, 
but  the  length  of  time  they  run. 

But  let's  write  some  more.  You  have  two  choices  for  your 
second  scene.  You  can  follow  John  or  you  can  follow  Nell.  Fig- 
ure out  which  is  the  more  important.  The  next  big  bit  of  busi- 
ness is  that  Nell  writes  John  that  she  will  marry  him  and  no  one 
else.  That  means  that  we  must  follow  Nell.  If  we  had  planned 
to  follow  John  we  should  have  had  John  walk  off  the  first  scene 
so  that  we  would  be  prepared  to  see  him  come  into  the  second, 
but  we  shall  not  need  John  for  a  moment  so  we  leave  him  stand- 
ing in  scene  one  and  follow  Nell  to  her  home. 

We  might  show  the  next  scene  with  Nell  coming  into  the  li- 
brary of  her  home,  but  we  are  going  to  use  the  front  of  the 
house  anyway  a  little  later  and  we  might  as  well  show  that  she 
gets  home.  It  will  make  the  action  a  little  smoother,  so  we  write : 

2-  Exterior  Nell's  home-  Nell  and  Morton  enter  in  car- 
leave  car-  exit  into  house. 

3-  Library-  Nell  and  Morton  enter-  Morton  angry-  Nell 
defiant-  Morton  exits-  Nell  to  desk-  writes. 

On  screen-  note 
Dear  John, 

No  matter  what  father  says,  I'll  marry  no  one  but  you. 
Lovingly, 

NELL. 

Back  to  scene-  Nell  calls  maid-  gives  letter-  Maid  exits- 
Nell  cries. 

You  will  notice  that  the  "On  screen"  is  written  in  the  margin, 
the  same  as  the  figures  and  presently  you  will  see  the  leaders  done 
in  the  same  way.  This  is  to  make  certain  that  these  are  not  over- 
looked, both  in  the  making  of  the  picture  and  when  they  are 
written  off  to  be  sent  to  the  leader  room  to  be  made.  You  will 
note,  too,  that  while  the  scenes  are  single  spaced,  a  double  space 
is  used  between  scenes  and  between  parts  of  scenes  and  inserts 
or  leaders. 

A  bust  is  not  brought  out  into  the  margin  -because  it  is  a  scene 
itself,  even  though  it  is  inserted  into  some  larger  scene  of  which 
it  is  a  magnified  section. 

Note,  too,  that  John  and  Nell  are  called  by  their  first  names, 
and  her  father  by  his  last.  As  a  rule,  young  people  are  called  by 
their  first  names  and  their  elders  by  their  last.  It  suggests  a 


42  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

difference  to  the  director  in  reading.  In  the  same  way  it  is  well 
to  select  short,  easily  remembered  names.  If  your  Spanish  heroine 
was  christened  Juanita,  shorten  it  to  Nita  for  the  sake  of  brevity 
and  pronounciation.  Use  the  shorter  names  for  leading  charac- 
ters and  the  longer  ones  for  the  minor  players.  Call  your  hero 
Steve,  but  your  villain  Stephen,  because  you  are  not  as  friendly 
with  the  villain. 

Now  that  the  note  is  written  John  should  get  it.  He  might 
receive  it  at  the  house  or  on  the  street.  It  is  better  to  have  the 
maid  meet  him  coming  out  of  the  house,  because  that  saves  show- 
ing the  front  when  she  arrives  and  then  his  room.  We  cut  out 
one  scene  and  yet  get  a  better  effect.  The  real  art  of  practical 
photoplay  writing  lies  in  looking  out  for  these  little  things.  We 
have  the  scene : 

4-  Front  of  John's  home-  John  enters  from  house-  Maid  enters- 
gives  note-  John  reads- 

On  screen-  flash  of  note  from  No.  3- 

Back  to  scene-  John  kisses  note-  puts  in  pocket-  exits  up 
street. 

In  scene  two  we  had  Nell  exit  into  the  house  and  now  we  have 
John  entering  from  the  house.  This  rather  upsets  our  notions. 
We  thought  people  entered  a  house  or  made  their  exit  from  it. 
But  we  are  speaking  now  of  the  scene.  John  enters  the  scene  by 
making  his  exit  from  the  house.  Nell  makes  her  exit  from  the 
scene  by  entering  her  home. 

There  is  no  real  need  of  flashing  the  note  in  this  scene,  since  it 
is  the  only  note  yet  used,  but  it  only  takes  about  three  feet  and 
there  is  a  sort  of  definite  identification  that  is  worth  those  three 
feet.  It  is  best  always  to  show  what  is  written  at  the  time  it  is 
written  and  what  is  read  at  the  moment  that  it  is  read. 

These  four  scenes  complete  the  introduction.  We  know  John, 
Nell  and  her  father,  their  homes,  their  circumstances,  their  names 
and  the  position  in  which  they  find  themselves.  Now  we  are 
ready  to  go  on  with  the  story.  All  of  this  happened  in  one  day, 
but  now  there  is  a  jump.  We  cannot  show  John  in  the  park  with- 
out explanation  unless  we  would  have  it  thought  that  he  went 
from  scene  four  straight  to  the  park,  so  we  preceed  the  next  scene 
with  a  leader. 

Leader-  Several  weeks  later.     An  accidental  meeting. 

5-  Park-  As  in  No.   5-  Nell  loitering  along  walk-  John  enters- 
sees  her-  surprised-  pleased-  comes  forward-  greetings- 
they  walk  slowly  toward  camera-  exit. 


THE  PLOT  OF  ACTION  43 

6-  Another  part  of  park-  John  and  Nell  walk  slowly  through- 
as  they  exit  Morton  enters  on  cross  path-  sees  them-  exits 
after  them. 

7-  Entrance  to  park-  Nell's  auto  waiting-  Nell  and  John  enter 
from  park-  stand  talking-  Morton  hurries  up-  about  to 
strike  John  with  cane-  Nell  cries  warning-  John  catches 
cane-   breaks   it  across  his  knee-    throws  pieces  on  ground- 
Morton  raves-  John  raises  hat  to  Nell-  exits. 

Leader-  The  young  inventor  meets  success. 

8:     Workshop-  auto  with  bonnet  removed-  rear  wheels  on  home 
trainer-John  enters-  removes  coat-bends  over  motor. 

9-     Nell's  home,   as  in  No.  2-  Nell  and  Morton  enter  in  car- 
alight-  Morton   sees   other  car  coming-  points-  waits- 
other  car  enters-  Count  alights-  Morton  greets  effusively- 
introduces  Nell-  Nell  cold-  all  enter  house. 

10-  Workshop  as  in  No.  8-  John  still  working-  handles  levers- 
engine  starts-  works-  John  delighted-  looks  up-  vision  in 
corner-  John  and  Nell  before  minister-  vision  fades-  John 
picks  up  coat-  hurries  out. 

11-     Library  as  in  No.   3-  Nell,  Morton  and  Count  on-  Count 
taking  leave-  very  impressive  in  manner-  Nell  still  cold- 
Count  exits-  Morton  turns  on  Nell-  furious-  speaks- 

Cut-in  leader-  "That  is  the  man  you  will  marry.     You  will  be  a 
countess." 

Back  to  scene-  Nell  defiant-  Morton  storms  out. 

Now  the  story  has  been  advanced  another  stage.  We  have 
shown  that  it  is  through  his  invention  that  John  hopes  to  be 
able  to  marry  Nell.  We  also  show  the  Count,  indicate  Morton's 
desire,  show  John's  success  and  Nell's  defiance  of  her  father.  By 
running  the  shop  scenes  alternately  with  the  ones  showing  Nell, 
we  do  not  have  to  stay  too  long  in  any  one  scene  and  yet  avoid 
the  use  of  leader. 

If  we  had  shown  Morton  in  No.  5  it  would  have  seemed  as 
though  he  was  spying  on  Nell,  but  since  he  chances  on  them  as 
they  walk  along,  it  is  apparent  that  he  was  not  watching.  If  we 
had  shown  John  come  into  the  shop  and  at  once  perfect  the  in- 
vention the  effect  would  have  been  absurd,  but  by  going  to  the 
Mortons'  house  for  a  moment  and  then  coming  back  to  find  John 
successful,  we  have  advanced  the  story  through  the  introduction 
of  the  Count  and  at  the  same  time  have  given  John  time  to 
succeed. 


44  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

The  vision  tells  John's  first  thought.  The  cut-in  leader  could 
have  been  run  before  scene  eleven  without  loss  of  interest,  but 
if  it  had  been  run  between  scenes  there  might  have  existed  some 
doubt  as  to  whether  the  words  were  spoken  before  or  after  the 
Count's  departure.  It  is  not  a  good  plan  to  cut  in  a  leader  unless 
it  is  necessary,  as  a  leader  interrupts  the  action  and  causes  a  mo- 
mentary check  in  the  interest,  but  there  are  times  when  a  cut  in 
leader  is  more  or  less  necessary. 

Now  we  come  to  a  third  period.  John  recognizes  the  Count  as 
a  former  chauffeur.  He  determines  to  keep  watch.  He  also 
sells  his  invention. 

Leader-  Some  days  later.     John  recognizes  the  Count  as  a  chaf- 
feur. 

12-  Street-  Morton,  Nell  and  Count  coming  toward  camera-  John 
enters  from  camera-  raises  hat-  Nell  and  Count  respond- 
Morton  looks  straight  ahead-  they  exit-  John  looks  after 
them-  puzzled-  thinks-  dissolve  in  auto  at  curb-  chauffeur 
bending  over  machine-  straightens  up-  shows  face-  it  is 
the  Count-  dissolve  out-  John  smiles-  exits  up  street. 

13-  Business  office-  Bascom  at  desk-  John  ushered  in-  Bascom 
cordial-  shows  John  paper-  John  reads- 

On  screen-part  of  assignment 

for  which  the  parties  of  the  first  part  agree  to  pay  the 
party  of  the  second  part  $50,000  on  assignment  of  patent 
rights  and  a  royalty  of  $25  on  every  machine  so  equipped. 

Back  to  scene-  John  nods-  lawyer  enters-  Bascom  says  John 
will  sign-  John  signs  papers-  shakes  hands-  exits. 

Because  we  did  not  see  John  and  the  Count  while  the  latter  was 
a  chauffeur,  we  use  a  leader  to  explain  the  recognition  and  then 
dissolve  in  the  Count  as  he  was  then.  This  makes  the  leader 
more  plain  and  drives  home  the  fact.  No  leader  is  used  to  ex- 
plain the  sale  of  the  patent  because  that  fact  is  covered  by  the 
section  of  the  assignment.  A  leader  in  explanation  would  seem 
too  long,  but  while  the  insert  is  longer  and  stays  longer  on  the 
screen,  it  seems  a  part  of  the  scene  and  not  an  instrusive  leader, 
and  so  it  is  less  objectionable. 

Now  the  middle  action  starts.  The  chauffeur^Count  is  moved 
to  the  front  for  a  moment. 

Leader-  That  evening- 

14-  Library  as  in  No.  3-  Count,  Nell  and  others  on-  small 
dinner  party-  all  exit  except  Count  and  Morton-  Count 


THE  PLOT  OF  ACTION  45 

speaks-  Morton  takes  key  from  pocket-  opens  safe  set  in 
wall-  displays  jewels-  Count  admires-  jewels  returned- 
Morton  about  to  lock  safe-  Count  jostles  Morton-  show  that 
it  is  done  on  purpose-  key  drops-  Morton  stoops-  Count  is 
quicker-  gets  key. 

15-  .Bust  of  Count's  hands  making  impression  of  key  in  wax. 

16-  Back  to  No.   14-  Count  completes  action  by  rising-  hands 
key  to  Morton  with  apology-  they  exit. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  scene  fourteen  gives  the  library  "as  in 
No.  3,"  but  that  scene  sixteen  is  "back  to  No.  14."  This  is  be- 
cause there  are  other  scenes  between  fourteen  and  eleven,  the 
•last  previous  library  scene,  and  the  time  is  later.  In  scene  six- 
teen there  is  only  the  slight  change  from  the  end  of  fourteen,  cov- 
ered by  the  making  of  the  wax  impression,  so  that  the  scene  is 
practically  the  same.  We  go  back  to  the  scene  as  it  was  in  the 
end  of  fourteen  and  resume  the  interrupted  action. 

"Rack  to,"  is  used  where  the  action  is  but  slightly  interrupted. 
"Same  as,"  is  used  where  the  setting  is  the  same,  but  the  scene 
opens  with  different  action.  In  that  case  reference  is  made  to 
the  scene  number  first  used.  Seventeen  is  the  same  as  sixteen 
except  that  time  has  passed  and  now  instead  of  the  stage  being 
bare  as  at  the  end  of  sixteen,  Nell  and  the  Count  are  discovered. 
If  we  went  "Back  to"  sixteen  we  would  go  back  to  a  bare  stage. 

Leader-  For  her  refusal  to  marry  the  Count  Nell   is  sent  to  the 
country. 

17-  Library  as  in  No.  3-  Count  and  Nell  on-  Count  proposes- 
Nell  refuses-  he  tries  to  force  engagement  ring  on  finger- 
she  resists-  Morton  enters-  sides  with  Count-  Nell  rushes 
from  room-  Morton  apologizes  to  Count-  assures  him  it  will 
be  all  right. 

18-  John's  workshop  as  in  No.   8-  John  and  Bascom  on-  they 
enter  car-  John  starts  car-  they  exit  in  car. 

Leader-  The  speed  device  is  a  success. 

19-  Speedway  or  country  road-  John  and  Bascom  enter  in  car- 
Bascom  holds  watch-  gives  the  word-  John  speeds  car- 

20-  Further  along-  John  and  Bascom  pass  through  in  car-  slow 
turning  to  give  speed. 

21-  End  of  speedway  or  roadside-  group  of  men  waiting-  car 
seen  in  distance-  approaches  rapidly-  shows-  stops  at 
group-  Bascom  joins  group-  shows  watch-  all  congratulate 
John-  he  thanks   them-   turns-  exits. 


46  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

22-  Workshop  as  in  No.  8-  John  enters  alone  in  car-  closes 
door-  starts  to  attend  to  car-  man  enters-  gives  note- 
John  reads- 

On  screen-  Note 

Because  I  would  not  marry  the  Count,   father  is  sending 
me   to  Uncle  George's  place   in  the  country,  with  the  house 
keeper  for  a  watchman-  I  will  write  soon-  don't  be 
discouraged.  NELL. 

Back  to  scene-  John  shocked-  comes  to  sudden  determina- 
tion- puts  on  coat-  exits. 

Leader-  John  goes  to  warn  Morton. 

23-  Street-  John  passes  through. 

24-  Close  up  of  Morton's  steps-  John  enters-  rings  bell- 
servant  comes-  takes  John's  card-  exits,   closing  door- 
John  shows  surprise  at  being  left  on  steps. 

25-  Library  as  in  No.  3-  Morton  and  Count  on-  talking-  servant 
enters  with  card-  gives  Morton-  Morton  angry-  exits-  Count 
rises  as  door  closes-  goes  to  safe. 

26-  Back  to  No.  24-  Morton  enters-  starts  to  row  with  John- 
John  speaks-  Morton  refuses  to  believe. 

27-  Back  to  No.  25-  Count  has  opened  safe-  stuffs  jewels  in 
pocket. 

28-  Back  to  No.  26-  John  still  arguing-  Morton  enters  house- 
John  follows. 

29-  Back  to  No.  27-  Count  closing  safe-  hears  noise-  alarmed- 
tries  to  lock  safe-  Morton  and  John  enter-  Count  tries  to 
appear  unconcerned-  John  goes  to  safe-  opens-  they  seize 
Count-  take  jewels  from  him-  John  goes  to   telephone-  Mor- 
ton tells  him  not  to  send  for  the  police-  Count  exits-  has 
nerve  back-  Morton  thanks  John. 

All  through  these  later  scenes  "Back  to"  is  used  since  the  dual 
action  is  continuous,  but  while  this  is  a  cut-back  it  is  not  the 
cut-back  as  it  is  generally  understood,  though  it  is  the  same  as  a 
cut-back  in  the  way  it  is  handled.  The  dual  action  is  employed 
here  to  cover  up  the  actual  robbery  and  get  the  story  past  the 
Board  of  Censors,  though  if  they  passed  the  wax  impression  of 
the  key  they  would  probably  pass  this.  The  commission  of  any 
crime  or  offensive  act  can  be  covered  up  in  this  fashion.  We 
are  coming  presently  to  the  true  cut-back- 


THE  PLOT  OF  ACTION  47 

Leader-  The  Count  plans  revenge. 

30-  Street-  Auto  at  curb-  Jenkins  beside  machine-  Count 
enters-  Jenkins  recognizes  him-  they  talk-  Count  makes 
proposal-  Jenkins  assents-  Count  enters  car-  Jenkins 
about  to  follow-  Count  kicks  him  in  chest-  Jenkins  falls- 
Count  speeds  out  of  scene-  John  enters-  helps  Jenkins  up- 
Jenkins  explains-  John  startled-  writes  in  notebook. 

On  screen-  Page  from  memo  book- 

This  man  tells  me  that  the  Count  has  gone  to  abduct  Nell 
for  ransom.  I  am  going  to  her  help,  flurry  after. 

Back  to  scene-  John  gives  Jenkins  note-  Jenkins  starts  in 
one  direction-  John  runs  in  the  other. 

31-  Workshop  as  in  No.  8-  John  rushes  in-  hustles  out  in  car. 

32-  Lawn  of  country  house-  Nell  reading-  old  woman  watching. 

33-  Road-  Count  passes  through  in  car. 

34-  City  street-  John  passes  through  in  car. 

35-  Lawn  as  in  No.  31-  Nell  on-  looks  up  in  surprise-  Count 
enters-  speaks. 

36-  Country  road-  John  passes  through  in  car. 
Leader-  "Your  father  is  ill.  He  sends  for  you." 

37-  Back  to  No.  35-  Count  speaks  leader-  Nell  shows  distress- 
hurries  from  scene  with  Count-old  woman  follows. 

38-  Entrance  to  country  estate-  car  waiting-  Count  and  Nell 
hurry  in-  Count  helps  Nell  in  car-  follows-  exits  as  old 
woman  hurries  into  scene-  she  calls  after  them-  no  re- 
sponse. 

39-  Road-  Count  and  Nell  race  through. 

40-  Nell's  house  as  in  No.  2-  Morton  enters  from  house-  Jen- 
kins enters-  gives  Morton  note-  Morton  reads. 

On  screen-  Plash  of  note  from  No.  30. 

Back  to  scene-  Morton  gives  Jenkins  tip-  hurries  into  car- 
exits  in  car. 

41-  Entrance  as  in  No.  38-  Woman  still  on-  John  enters  in  car- 
speaks-  woman  points  direction  Count  took-  John  exits. 

42-  Road-  Count  and  Nell  pass  through-  Count  looking  back. 

43-  Road  as  in  No.  39-  John  passes  through  scene. 

44-  Road-  Count  and  Nell  pass  through. 


48  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

45-  Road  as  in  No.  33-  Morton  passes  through  in  car. 

46-  Crossroads-  Count  and  Nell  enter  in  car-  Count  takes  right 
hand  road-  Nell  tosses  out  glove-  make  action  as  marked  as 
possible. 

47-  Road-  John  passes  through. 

48-  Crossroads  as  in  No.  46-  John  enters-  slows  down-  does  not 
know  which  road-  sees  glove-  recognizes  it-  kisses  it- 
starts  down  right  hand  road. 

49-  Road-  Count  and  Nell  enter-  Nell  struggling  with  Count  for 
steering  wheel-  car  swerves. 

50-  Road-  John  runs  through. 

51-  Back  to  No.  48,  but  car  now  overturned-  Nell  and  Count  in 
road  unconscious  beside  car-  John  enters-  stops-  runs  to 
Nell-  works  over  her. 

52-  Entrance  as  in  No.   38-  Morton  enters-  woman  runs  through 
gate-  tells  Morton-  points-  Morton  starts  ahead. 

53-  Back  to  No.   51-  Nell  revives-  they  give  attention  to 
Count-  he  is  dead-  John  covers  his  face  with  spare  auto 
duster-  hear  car  coming-  Morton  enters  in  car-  comes  to 
them-  thanks  John-  all  enter  John's  car,   leaving  Morton's 
chauffeur  with  Count-  exit. 

This  is  rather  a  crude  example  of  the  cut-back,  but  it  serves  to 
show  how  the  scenes  are  laid  out  to  hold  the  suspense.  It  also 
makes  possible  that  overturned  automobile.  As  the  car  swerves 
it  is  stopped.  After  .it  is  overturned  scene  fifty-one  is  made 
and  then  the  last  scene. 

That  last  scene  closes  the  story  rather  abruptly,  but  it  is  better 
to  stop  right  there.  We  see  that  John  gets  the  girl  and  there 
our  interest  dies.  It  would  be  possible  to  go  on  and  show  the 
marriage,  but  it  would  be  just  as  possible  and  just  as  logical  to 
keep  on  and  show  that  they  had  children  and  grandchildren, 
that  they  lived  to  a  ripe  old  age,  then  died  and  were  buried. 

This  is  the  story  of  how  John  won  Nell.  As  soon  as  he  wins 
her  stop,  for  the  interest  dies.  There  is  art  in  knowing  just  when 
the  story  starts,  but  to  know  just  when  to  stop  and  not  stop  a 
scene  too  soon  or  two  scenes  too  late  is  a  far  greater  accom- 
plishment. 

Before  we  drop  the  story  note  that  while  we  early  find  that 
the  Count  really  is  Jim  Laroque,  a  thieving  chauffeur,  we  keep 
on  calling  him  the  Count.  Have  just  one  name  for  a  character 
and  always  use  that  name. 


LEADERS  AND  INSERTED  MATTER       49 


CHAPTER  VII. 


LEADERS    AND    INSERTED    MATTER 

The  importance  of  careful  work — leaders  vs.  letters— -tele- 
grams—--newspaper  headlines^— the  pictorial  insert — need 
for  variety — "leaderless"  script. 


One  of  the  most  marked  signs  of  the  novice  is  the  awkward 
handling  of  leaders  and  inserts. 

It  has  been  repeatedly  stated  that  the  ideal  script  is  one  that 
is  entirely  free  from  leader,  and  this  is  quite  true.  Leader  in- 
terrupts the  action  and  for  a  moment  halts  the  interest  in  the 
picture  while  the  brain  assimilates  the  information  just  conveyed. 
In  the  theater  the  curtain  falls  and  interrupts  the  action.  When 
it  rises  again  there  are  a  few  minutes  in  which  the  effort  is  wholly 
directed  to  "getting  the  audience  back."  The  leader  is  the  drop 
curtain  of  the  photoplay  and,  whether  it  is  used  as  a  curtain  or 
not,  there  is  a  certain  check  in  the  interest,  a  momentary  lapse  of 
attention.  Therefore  the  ideal  script  is  one  in  which  no  leader 
is  needed  to  explain  the  story. 

But  it  is  well  to  remember  that  there  is  a  vast  difference  be- 
tween the  script  that  needs  no  leaders  and  the  script  that  merely 
lacks  them.  Better  a  leader  before  each  scene  and  an  under- 
standable story,  than  the  leaderless  script  and  a  meaningless  and 
therefore  uninteresting  jumble  of  confused  action.  The  real 
leaderless  script  would  be  one  in  which  the  action  all  passed 
within  a  few  hours,  escaping  the  need  of  time  leaders,  and  in 
which  the  story  was  so  simple  as  not  to  need  printed  explanation. 
Do  not,  at  the  start,  try  for  the  leaderless  script.  Try,  instead, 
to  use  as  few  leaders  as  possible  and  to  have  these  as  clear  and 
as  concise  as  you  can  get  them. 

Another  statement,  wholly  correct  but  sadly  misapplied,  is  that 
a  letter  is  less  apt  to  be  resented  than  a  leader.  This  is  very  true. 
A  thirty  word  letter  is  less  apt  to  be  resented  by  an  audience  than 
a  fifteen  word  leader,  because  a  letter  seems  a  part  of  the  action 
and  not  an  intrusion,  but  this  should  not  be  taken  to  mean  that 
every  time  you  need  to  explain  something  a  character  should  sit 
down  and  drop  a  line  to  someone  else.  You  can  escape  a  leader 
with  a  letter  now  and  then,  but  do  not  try  to  do  so  habitually. 
Use  the  letter  or  other  insert  only  where  it  is  clearly  indicated 
and  the  leader  where  you  must. 


50  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Another  point  to  remember  is  that  when  you  are  rushing 
toward  your  climax  the  movement  of  your  action  should  'be  as 
rapid  as  possible  and  so  all  explanatory  leaders  should  be  used 
in  the  earlier  scenes,  straightening  out  the  situations  so  that 
when  you  come  to  your  climax  you  do  not  have  to  pause  every 
scene  or  two  and  make  a  labored  explanation.  Keep  the  last 
third  of  your  action  as  free  as  possible  from  any  sort  of  insert, 
but  use  an  insert  if  you  have  to  instead  of  passing  over  the  scene 
that  is  not  clear. 

The  leader  should  be  as  brief  as  is  possible.  It  should  be 
clipped  of  all  unnecessary  words,  but  at  the  same  time  you  should 
not  trim  too  much.  Be  brief,  but  be  fluent.  The  leader  that 
reads  easily  is  better  than  the  shorter  sentence  that  is  abrupt  and 
rough.  Don't  take  the  first  thing  that  comes  into  your  mind. 
Work  over  and  polish  the  phrase  until  it  is  both  terse  and  elegant. 

Suppose  that  you  have  a  leader  that  first  comes  to  you  as 
"Frank  and  Jim  have  a  quarrel  over  May  Morgan." 

In  the  first  place  you  do  not  need  the  last  word.  May  is  as 
good  as  the  full  name  for  our  purpose.  The  word  "have"  is 
more  or  less  useless.  "Frank  and  Jim  quarrel  about  May,"  cuts 
it  down  to  six  words.  But  we  can  see  that  Frank  and  Jim  are 
the  disputants.  "The  quarrel  over  May"  is  all  you  need.  You 
can  see  that  it  is  a  quarrel,  for  that  matter,  but  "over  May"  is 
not  smooth,  so  the  other  words  are  kept  to  make  for  ease  of 
speech.  The  four  words  tell  the  story,  but  by  using  quotation 
marks  and  letting  Jim  speak,  the  words  "Let  May  alone,"  will 
be  ample  to  explain  the  situation. 

Perhaps  you  have  something  like  "Bess  refuses  Count  Casimir's 
proposal  of  marriage,  telling  him  that  she  will  give  her  heart 
only  to  an  American." 

You  know  Bess  and  the  Count.  You  see  that  he  proposes 
and  is  refused.  The  only  point  to  be  explained  is  that  Bess 
wants  an  American.  Again  use  the  quotation  marks  and  "I  will 
marry  only  an  American"  tells  the  whole  story.  If  you  want 
to  keep  the  audience  guessing  until  the  last  moment  you  can  use 
it  as  a  cut-in  leader,  or  you  can  run  it  before  the  scene  if  you  do 
not  want  to  hold  back  the  fact. 

The  quoted  leader  is  handy,  but  it  should  not  be  used  too 
much,  and  there  is  a  growing  tendency  to  use  two  and  even  three 
cut-in  leaders  in  one  scene.  A  straight  leader  and  one  cut-in 
is  about  the  limit.  A  leader  or  a  cut-in,  but  not  both,  should 
suffice. 

There  was  a  time  when  the  comedy  leader  was  cut  out  on  the 
ground  that  it  was  not  needed,  but  now  most  Editors  will  pass 
a  leader  if  it  gives  a  laugh.  Surely  a  five  foot  leader  with  3 


LEADERS  AND  INSERTED  MATTER  51 

laugh  is  as  well  worth  while  as  a  thirty  foot  scene  with  one 
laugh,  provided  that  the  laugh  leader  is  not  used  more  than  twice 
and  preferably  only  once  in  a  half  reel  comedy. 

It  is  good  practise  for  both  beginner  and  the  advanced  student 
to  spend  spare  moments  in  taking  ten  and  twelve  word  leaders 
and  reducing  them  to  four  or  five  words. 

But  the  leader  can  also  be  used  to  "break"  scenes  as  where  a 
day  or  a  week  or  a  year  elapses  between  two  scenes,  possibly 
both  played  in  the  same  setting.  Here  the  leader  is  a  drop  cur- 
tain and  "The  next  day"  is  as  effective  a  break  as  the  curtain 
would  be.  In  using  time  leaders  try  and  get  a  variety  of  phrases. 
Do  not  say  "The  next  day"  three  or  four  times  in  the  same  script. 
Use  "The  next  day,"  the  first  time  and  then  "In  the  morning" 
or  "The  following  night,"  or  whatever  it  may  be.  "The  next  week," 
"A  few  days  later."  "As  time  goes  on,"  "With  the  passing  days" 
and  similar  expressions  will  greatly  aid  in  varying  the  monotony. 

The  time  leader  can  be  used  to  break  scenes,  but  it  is  better, 
where  possible,  to  break  with  another  scene  if  the  time  is  short. 
Taking  scenes  eight  and  ten  in  the  script  in  chapter  six,  we 
might  play  them  as  eight  and  nine  by  writing  in  a  leader.  "A 
few  hours  later.  John  completes  his  invention,"  but  since  we 
can  use  the  scene  with  Nell  and  her  father,  which  is  all  action, 
it  is  much  better. 

In  the  same  way  you  must  break  scenes  where  the  action  can- 
not long  continue  without  growing  tiresome.  The  heroine  goes 
to  her  room  to  change  her  dress.  We  cannot  remain  and  watch 
her,  yet  the  action  cannot  continue  until  the  change  has  been 
made.  She  starts  to  change,  we  cut  to  the  hero  waiting  for  her, 
come  back  to  see  her  ready  dressed,  and  the  action  goes  on. 
As  a  leader  we  might  say  "Nell  changes  her  dress,"  but  the 
cut-back  is  better.  It  is  a  matter  of  judgment  when  to  use  a 
leader  and  when  to  cut-back  to  cover. 

Letters  and  telegrams  are  largely  used,  the  telegram  being  used 
where  possible  because  of  the  brevity  due  to  the  cost  per  word. 
Common  sense  must  tell  the  author  when  to  use  a  letter  and 
when  a  telegram  may  be  substituted. 

If  the  letter  is  to  be  used,  it  is  often  better  to  use  a  paragraph 
from  a  letter  than  the  entire  letter.  No  girl,  for  instance,  would 
write : 

Dear  Jane: 

The  wealthy  John  Smith  will  visit  your  town  next  week. 
Lovingly, 

SADIE. 

That  would  be  absurd,  but  no  more  absurd  than  some  of  the 
letters  we  actually  see  on  the  screen.  This  would  look  much 
better : 


52  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

so  do  hurry  up  and  write. 

Lovingly, 

SADIE 

P.   S. — The  rich  John  Smith  will  visit  Hampton  next  week.     He's  a  great 
catch,  but  a  wary  fish. 

That  gives  the  whole  point  without  suggesting  that  it  is  more 
than  a  casual  mention. 

In  telegrams  it  is  not  necessary  to  give  the  markings,  but  it  is 
necessary  to  give  the  address  and  the  signature.  You  do  not 
write : 


On  screen-  Telegram- 
Come  at  once.     Your  mother  is  dead. 

Give  the  complete  form  all  ready  to  be  transcribed  and  save  the 
director  the  trouble  of  thinking  up  a  name  and  address.  Write  it: 

On  screen-  Telegram- 

HENRY  HARRISON, 

1193  Fourth  Avenue, 
New  York  City. 

Come  at  once.     Your  mother  died  last  night. 

FATHER. 

Now  all  the  director  has  to  do  is  to  copy  this  off  onto  the  leader 
sheet  and  send  it  to  that  department. 

In  forming  your  addresses  do  not  use  an  actual  address.  There 
is  no  number  so  high  as  1193  in  Fourth  Avenue,  New  York  City, 
which  is  why  it  is  used.  If  you  want  an  address  on  Fifth  Avenue 
take  the  number  of  the  Public  Library.  For  a  downtown  address 
on  Broadway  Trinity  Church  or  St.  Paul's  Chapel  would  be  better 
than  some  live  number.  The  same  applies  to  other  cities. 

Newspaper  paragraphs  or  extracts  from  books  serve  their 
purpose  well.  For  an  extract  from  a  book  simply  give  sufficient 
of  the  text.  For  a  newspaper  paragraph  copy  the  style  of  some 
paper. 

The  headline  is  easier  than  the  paragraph,  but  you  cannot  head- 
line a  paragraph  or  paragraph  a  two  column  story.  In  any  case 
give  the  full  text  instead  of  writing: 

On  screen-  Newspaper  paragraph  telling  that  John  has  been 
ordered  to  report  for  sea  duty. 

Do  the  work  yourself  and  get  it  just  right.   Put  it  more  like  this. 


LEADERS  AND  INSERTED  MATTER  53 

On  screen-  Newspaper  clipping. 

Lieutenant  John  Bergen,  U.S.N.,  who  has  been  spend- 
ing his  shore  leave  with  his  parents  in  this  city, 
left  last  night  to  rejoin  his  ship,  which  leaves  the 
Brooklyn  Navy  Yard  this  morning. 

The  paragraph  does  nicely  for  facts  of  no  great  news  interest, 
but  the  headline  should  be  used  for  the  big  events.  If  your  hero's 
father  is  plain  John  Brown,  his  death  would  be  announced  in 
three  lines  in  the  death  notices,  but  if  he  was  John  Fleming, 
head  of  the  Mousetrap  Trust,  his  death  would  be  "played  up" 
more  like  this : 

On  screen-  Two  column  head- 
Millionaire  John  Fleming 

Discovered  Dead  in  His  Bed 

Powerful  head  of  industrial  trust  dies  in  solitude  in  his 
palatial  home. 

Quarrel  with  His  Daughter  Recalled 

Marriage  of  his  only  child  to  her  riding  instructor  be- 
lieved to -have  hastened  magnate's  death. 

This  will  be  set  up  precisely  like  a  news  head  and  when  it  is 
thrown  on  the  screen  enough  will  be  shown  to  advise  the  audi- 
ence that  when  Mary  picks  the  paper  up  she  reads  of  her 
father's  death.  Only  that  fact  is  essential,  but  give  the  whole  of 
the  head,  for  the  first  two  lines  will  not  fill  the  frame  and  you 
must  give  a  little  more  than  enough  to  fill  a  space  one-third 
wider  than  it  is  high.  The  frame  is  one  inch  by  three-quarters 
and  the  head  must  be  proportioned  to  the  space.  If  you  cannot 
write  your  head  offhand,  select  some  headline  in  a  daily  paper 
that  will  suit  and  copy  the  style. 

Legal  papers  and  similar  instruments  can  be  shown  as  the  para- 
graph in  the  preceding  chapter  or  only  the  back  endorsed  with 
the  facts  may  be  shown.  If  you  want  to  show  that  it  is  John's 
life  insurance  papers,  you  show  a  hand  clutching  the  paper,  the 
writing  on  the  back  shows  what  it  is. 

For  pictorial  inserts  such  as  lockets,  you  describe  the  article 
with  sufficient  fullness,  but  do  not  give  unnecessary  details. 
You  do  not,  for  example,  say  that  the  locket  is  a  gold  locket  set 
with  diamonds  and  with  a  monogram  on  the  back  when  you  do 
not  show  the  back  at  all,  but  merely  the  inside  with  Jack's 
picture.  Instead  you  write: 

On  screen-  Locket  showing  Jack's  picture. 


54  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

If  you  need  a  certain  shape  of  locket,  such  as  an  oval,  a  heart 
.or  a  circle,  you  say  so,  but  do  not  say  the  locket  must  be  an 
inch  and  a  half  long  when  you  show  only  the  locket.  If  a  hand 
holds  the  locket  it  must  be  to  scale,  but  if  the  locket  alone  is 
shown,  the  property  man  may  take  a  large  picture  of  the  player 
and  mould  a  plaster  locket  around  an  eight  by  ten  print.  It  will 
photograph  better  and  come  out  better  on  the  screen. 

Do  not  be  too  fussy  about  your  inserts,  and  do  not  draw  a  lot 
of  designs.  Indicate  clearly  what  you  want  and  leave  the  rest 
to  the  director.  He  will  do  his  best.  Do  not  send  photographs, 
•drawings  or  other  things  that  may  be  needed.  If  you  call  for 
something  that  the  studio  cannot  possibly  get,  make  a  note  to 
the  effect  that  you  can  supply  the  article  free  on  request. 

Not  long  ago  a  verse  from  the  Koran  was  wanted  in  a  script 
and  the  author  offered  to  send  a  copy  for  reproduction,  giving  at 
the  same  time  the  verse  and  sura  af  the  text  in  his  script.  What 
he  got  on  the  screen  was  a  page  from  an  Arabic  Koran  followed 
by  the  translation,  a  much  more  effective  insert  than  he  had 
thought  to  suggest.  The  director,  as  a  rule,  is  more  anxious  than 
you  to  give  a  good  production.  If  he  is  not,  your  over-anxiety 
will  not  help,  anyway. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  STUDY  OF  THE  SYNOPSIS 

The  vital  importance  of  the  synopsis — the  great  appeal  to 
the  editor — the  opportunity  for  literary  style — how  to 
condense  and  retain  the  story. 

In  Chapter  V  a  part  of  the  space  was  given  to  the  synopsis  and 
its  function,  since  the  synopsis  is  a  part  of  the  photoplay  form, 
but  the  importance  of  this  division  of  the  photoplay  warrants 
more  careful  and  exhaustive  treatment  than  can  be  given  in  part 
of  a  chapter. 

The  synopsis,  as  has  been  said,  is  the  means  of  attracting  the 
attention  of  the  Editor.  It  is  the  synopsis,  as  a  rule,  that  sells  the 
story  or  is  the  cause  of  failure.  If  the  synopsis  is  snappy  and 
attractive,  it  will  catch  the  Editor's  attention.  If  it  is  dull  and 
sluggish  it  is  not  likely  to  interest  him.  It  may  partly  tell  a  story 
that  does  get  his  attention,  and  he  may  read  the  plot  of  action  for 
the  complete  narrative,  but  he  will  not  turn  to  the  action  already 
half  convinced  that  this  is  the  story  that  he  wants.  He  will  be 


A  STUDY  OF  THE  SYNOPSIS  55 

hopeful,  perhaps,  but  it  will  be  with  no  assurance  that  he  turns 
the  pages  over.  He  is  apt  to  argue  that  the  person  who  cannot 
write  a  good  synopsis  cannot  write  a  good  plot  of  action.  This 
may  not  be  the  fact,  but  it  is  so  generally  true  that  the  exceptions 
do  not  count. 

A  man  may  be  able  to  cut  a  tremendous  gash  in  a  tree  with  a 
single  stroke  of  the  axe  and  yet  have  his  strength  fail  him  before 
the  tree  is  felled  or  lack  the  skill  to  properly  direct  his  strokes, 
but  as  a  rule  the  man  who  makes  the  best  single  cut  is  the  one 
most  likely  to  be  able  to  chop  down  the  tree  with  the  greatest 
skill  and  in  the  shortest  time. 

So  it  is  with  the  synopsis.  The  Editor  is  apt  to  argue  that 
if  the  synopsis  is  good  the  story  must  be  good,  but  that  the  dull 
synopsis  advertises  the  poor  story. 

The  fact  that  the  story  must  be  held  to  250  words  seems  to 
cause  beginners  much  trouble  and  it  sometimes  happens  that  in 
worrying  about  the  length  they  fail  to  do  their  best  in  telling  the 
story.  It  is  better  to  overwrite  and  then  cut  down  than  to  try 
and  write  to  the  limit  the  first  time.  Later  on  you  will  catch  the 
trick  and  be  able  to  get  two  or  three  reels  into  '250  words,  but 
until  you  reach  this  point,  do  not  be  afraid  to  waste  several  sheets 
of  trial  paper  getting  the  synopsis  just  right. 

To  study  the  work  of  making  the  synopsis,  suppose  we  take  the 
Lubin  story  of  From  Ignorance  to  Light.  Here  is  the  manu- 
script of  the  story  as  it  was  written  with  the  original  title. 

FOR  THE  WRONG  MAN'S  SAKE. 
Action. 

1-  Atmospheric  picture-  characteristic  spot-  Mary,  with  bare 
feet,    in  a  skimpy  calico  gown,   leans  against  a   tree-  Paul 
and  a  couple  of  other  men  pass-  Paul  raises  his  hat  with 
exaggerated  courtesy-  make  it  plain  that  he  does  not  know 
the  girl-  he  passes  on-  Mary  looks  after  him-  Jack  comes 
from  the  direction  in  which  Paul  and  the  others  made  exit 
he  speaks  courteously-  Mary  responds,  hut  her  interest 

is  in  Paul,   and  as  she  speaks  she  glances  after  him-  Jack 
passes  on-  Mary  does  not  look  after  him,  but  turns  her 
back  on  direction  he  took  to  watch  Paul. 

Leader-  A  few  days  later.     The  visitor  decides  to  amuse  himself 
with  the  country  girl. 

2-  Location-  Mary  on-   loafing  in  the  sun-  she  sits  up  as 
Paul  and  others  approach-  Paul  stops-  she  is  embarrassed 
but  eager  to  gain  his  attention-  Paul  stops-  chats  a 
moment-  the  others  urge  him  to  come  on-  he  tells  them  to 


56  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

go  without  him-  they  exit-  he  suggests  a  stroll-  Mary,  all 
eagerness,  springs  up-  exits  down  path  diagonal  to 
camera-  Jack  comes  in-  sees  them-  stands  watching  a 
moment-  shakes  his  head  a  moment-  registers  his  concern- 
passes  on. 

3-  Location-  Paul  and  Mary  stroll  in-  Mary  completely  ab- 
sorbed in  Paul-  she  pauses-  points  off-  Paul  glances  at 
watch-  shakes  head-  tries  to  detain  her-  she  refuses- 
starts  to  run  off-  he  catches  her-  brings  her  back-  wants 
a  kiss-  she- refuses-  he  urges-  steals  one-  she  is  angry 
and  yet  glad-  goes  slowly  out  of  scene-  he  looks  after 
her-  laughs-  exits  in  opposite  direction. 

Leader-  The  next  day. 

4-  Same  as  No.  3-  Mary  on-  watching-  impatient-  looks  off 
right  and  left-  Paul  steals  in  from  rear-  puts  hands  over 
her  eyes-  she  guesses  who  it  is-  he  claims  kiss-  she  gives 
it  to  him,  shyly-  they  exit  out  of  picture. 

Leader-  And  the  next. 

5-  Same  as  No.  2-  Mary  watching-  Paul  enters-  they  start  to 
exit-  Jack  enters-  speaks-  Mary  gives  him  a  happy  little 
smile-  immediately  engrossed  with  Paul-  passes  out  of 
scene-  Jack  clenches  hands-  looks  after  them-  regains  con- 
trol of  himself-  passes  on. 

6-  Spot-  Paul  and  Mary  stroll  in-  Paul  takes  book  from 
pocket-  offers  it  to  Mary-  she  is  embarrassed-  shakes 
head-  he  does  not  understand-  persists  in  offering  it- 
she  hangs  head-  speaks: 

Cut  in  leader-  "I  can't  read." 

Back  to  scene-  Paul  surprised-  Mary  perceives  his  aston- 
ishment- begins  to  cry-  he  pets  her-  coaxes  her-  smiles- 
they  exit  slowly. 

7-  Location  as  in  No.  3-  Paul  and  Mary  enter-  Paul  kisses 
her-  she  exits-  he  looks  after  her  a  moment-  laughs- 
Gertrude  enters-  greetings-  they  exit  together-  Mary 
returns  into  scene-  looks  after  them-  jealous-  steals 
after  them. 

8-  Location-  Paul  and  Gertrude  enter-  sit-  chat-  Mary  steals 
into  background-  Paul  takes  book  from  pocket-  offers  it 

to  Gertrude-  she  takes-  looks  it  over-  Paul  tells  of  Mary- 
Mary  shows  she  is  subject  of  conversation-  steals  off. 

Leader-  The  Awakening-  "Make  me  educated-  like  her." 

9-  Spot  showing  No,  8  in  background-  Jack  enters-  Mary 


A  STUDY  OF  THE  SYNOPSIS  ;  57 

comes  stumbling  through  the  brush-  crying-  Jack  stops  hsr- 
she  speaks  leader-  points  to  Gertrude  and  Paul-  Jack 
understands-  leads  her  off. 

Leader-  The  schoolmaster  educates  Mary  for  his  rival's  sake. 

10-  Jack's  home-  neat  cottage-  table  and  bench  in  yard-  he  and 
Mary  come  in-  she  is  more  like  a  child  with  Jack-  he 
gives  her  book  and  slate-  they  sit-  she  takes  first 
lesson. 

11-  Same  as  No.  8-  Paul  and  Gertrude  rise-  he  tries  to  make 
love-  she  stops  him-  they  exit. 

Leader-  The  next  day. 

12-  Location  as  in  No.  2-  Paul  comes  in-  looks  about  him- 
tacks  envelope  to  tree  with  a  pin-  glances  at  watch- 
exits. 


13- 


exts. 

Spot  as  in  No.  6-  Paul  passes  through  scene-  overtakes 
Gertrude-  they  exit  together. 


14-  Location  as  in  No.  2-  Mary  comes  running  in-  late-  look* 
about-  worried-  sees  letter-  opens-  shakes  head-  cannot 
read-  runs  off. 

15-  Jack's  home,  as  in  No.  10-  Jack  on-  Mary  comes  in  with  her 
letter-  offers  Jack  the  opened  sheet-  he  reads: 

On  screen-  letter. 

"S'orry  I  could  not  wait,  but  I  am  hurrying  home.  I  will 
see  you  next  year.  PAUL." 

Back  to  scene-  Mary  cries-  Jack  comforts  her. 
Leader-  As  the  days  go  by. 

16-  Location  as  in  No.  2-  Mary  studying  book-  hard  work-  Jack 
enters-  sits  beside  her-  all  eagerness,  she  snuggles  up 
beside  him  to  explain  her  difficulties-  looks  down  at 
bare  feet-  realizes  for  the  first  time  that  they  ARE  bare- 
raises  one  and  inspects  it  critically-  speaks-  Jack  nods- 
offers  money-  Mary  shakes  head-  has  idea-  runs  off. 

17-  Mary's  home-  not  as  good  as  Jack's-  Mary  comes  in-  mother 
working  embroidery-  Mary  begs  her  to  teach  her-  mother 
surprised-  starts  to  teach-  Mary  very  much  interested. 

18-  Back  to  No.  16-  Jack  rouses  out  of  brown  study-  picks  up 
book  that  Mary  dropped-  kisses  it-  shows  mental  unrest- 
rises-  exits. 

19*  Back  to  No.  17-  Mary  hard  at  work-  Jack  enters-  gives  her 
book-  she  thanks  him-  speaks: 


58  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Cut  in  leader-  "When  Paul  comes  back  I  can  read  and  write  and 
dress  like  other  girls." 

20-  Back  to  scene-  Mary  happy  in  the  thought-  it  hurts  Jack, 
but  he  hides  his  emotion-  exits. 

Leader-  Three  months  later. 

21-  Jack's  home-  Jack  on-  at  table-  Mary  enters-  now  trimly 
dressed,  with  shoes  and  stockings-  carries  books-  sits- 
starts  to  study  with  Jack-  not  so  free  in  her  manner  with 
him-  there  is  a  certain  reserve-  little  girl  not  too 
young  (about  12)  enters-  gives  Jack  letter-  he  thanks  her- 
she  puts  up  her  face  for  a  kiss-  he  kisses  her  carelessly- 
Mary  half  rises-  angry-  child  exits-  Jack  turns-  sur- 
prised- Mary  controls  herself-  they  continue  studies-  Mary 

can't  work-  shakes  head-  registers  that  she  has  headache- 
rises-  says  good  bye-  Jack  takes  her  hand-  pats  it 
encouragingly-  she  snatches  it  away-  runs  from  scene- 
Jack  surprised-  follows  slowly. 

22-  Location  as  in  No.  8-  Mary  comes  in-  all  upset-  sits- 
thinks  hard-  Jack  comes  into  background-  advances  slowly- 
speaks-  wants  to  know  what  the  matter  is-  Mary  hangs 
head-  Jack  urges-  puts  arms  about  her  in  a  brotherly  sort 
of  way-  Mary  snatches  back-  then  comes  slowly  into  his 
arms  again-  hides  face  a  moment-  speaks: 

Cut  in  leader-  "Can't  you  see!  It's  you-  not  him." 
Back  to  scene-  Jack  sees. 

We'll  overlook  the  fact  that  it  is  a  very  bad  plan  to  have  a  cut 
in  leader  in  the  last  scene  and  discuss  the  synopsis. 

This  play  was  written  for  George  O.  Nicholls,  a  personal  friend, 
and  the  synopsis  was  rather  more  brief  than  is  altogether  advis- 
able in  usual  practice,  but  at  the  same  time  it  told  all  of  the  story. 
It  read: 

Mary  Monson,  a  country  girl,  is  attracted  by  Paul  Lang- 
ford,  who  is  spending  his  winter  in  the  South.  For  his 
sake  she  learns  to  read  and  write  and  is  willing  to  work 
to  earn  money  for  proper  clothes.  The  educational  side  is 
looked  after  by  Jack  Hardy,  the  schoolmaster,  who  himself 
loves  Mary.  He  thinks  he  is  educating  her  to  make  her 
fit  to  marry  his  rival,  but  Mary  suddenly  discovers  that 
the  right  man  is  Jack. 


A  STUDY  OF  THE  SYNOPSIS  59 

:  This  runs  but  sixty-seven  words,  yet  the  full  story  is  told  and 
many  editors  would  buy  a  story  on  that  synopsis  even  if  they  did 
not  know  the  author  who  wrote  it. 

But  suppose  that  this  had  been  written  by  a  beginner  who  la- 
bored under  the  belief  that  everything  must  be  put  down.  He 
might  start  it  off  this  way: 

Mary  Monson  is  a  country  girl.  One  day  Paul  Langford  passes 
her  and  is  attracted  by  her  beauty.  The  schoolmaster  passes  and 
speaks  to  her,  but  she  has  eyes  only  for  Paul.  The  next  day  they 
meet  again  and  this  time  Paul  asks  her  to  take  a  walk  with  him. 
She  does  so.  They  walk  through  the  woods  until  Mary  discovers 
that  it  is  time  for  her  to  go  home.  Paul  wants  her  to  kiss  him 
good  bye.  She  says  no,  but  Paul  runs  after  her  and  brings  her 
back  and  kisses  her.  Next  day  they  meet  again  and  this  time  she 
does  not  mind  being  kissed.  They  go  for  another  walk  and  pass 
Jack  the  schoolmaster,  who  also  loves  Mary.  He  is  very  angry 
when  he  sees  them  together,  but  he  does  not  say  anything.  Paul 
offers  Mary  a  book  to  read.  Mary  does  not  know  how  to  read 
and  she  is  very  much  ashamed  when  she  has  to  tell  him  so.  She 
starts  to  go  home  and  Gertrude,  a  beautiful  young  lady,  who  is  a 
friend  of  Paul's  comes  along  and  she  and  Paul  go  for  a  walk. 
Mary  is  jealous  and  follows  them.  Paul  gives  Gertrude  the  book 
that  Mary  could  not  read  and  tells  her  how  Mary  could  not  read 
it.  Gertrude  reads  the  book.  Mary  runs  away  and  meets  the 
schoolmaster,  Jack,  and  asks  him  to  teach  her  how  to  read  like 
Gertrude  can.  Jack  says  he  will  so  he  takes  her  to  his  home  where 
he  gives  her  a  slate  and  a  book  and  she  begins  to  study.  The 
next  day  Mary  is  late  meeting  Paul  and  he  leaves  her  a  note  say- 
ing that  he  is  going  away  and  will  see  her  next  year.  Mary  can- 
not read  the  note,  of  course,  so  she  takes  it  to  the  schoolmaster, 
who  reads  it  for  her.  She  studies  very  hard  and  learns  how  to 
read  and  write.  She  also  discovers  that  she  has  no  shoes  and 
stockings  so  she  learns  how  to  do  embroidery  so  as  to  get  the 
money  for  shoes  and  stockings,  which  she  does.  Then  she  finds 
that  she  loves  Jack  instead  of  Paul  so  she  tells  him  so  and  he 
hugs  and  kisses  her. 

This  may  sound  amusing,  but  it  is  precisely  the  sort  of  synopsis 
that  comes  into  the  studio  day  after  day.  All  of  this  detail  does 
not  interest  the  Editor.  The  point  of  the  story  is  that  big 
hearted  Jack,  for  the  sake  of  the  woman  he  loves,  sets  aside  his 
own  Jonging  and  tries  to  fit  her  to  be  the  wife  of  another.  That 
is  about  all  there  is  to  the  story,  in  its  last  analysis.  There  is 
plenty  of  action,  but  the  essential  plot  is  contained  in  that  single 
sentence,  "He  thinks  that, he  as  educating  her  to  make  her  fit  to 


60  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

marry  h'*s  rival,  but  Mary  suddenly  discovers  that  the  right  man 
is  Jack."  Writing  for  the  stranger  editor,  that  fact  should  be  the 
first  advanced.  That  is  the  punch,  the  education  of  the  girl  for 
the  sake  of  her  happiness  though  the  act  makes  it  possible  for  her 
to  marry  the  other  man.  Start  your  synopsis  with  that. 

All  the  time  thinking  that  he  is  fitting  her  to  marry  his  rival, 
Jack  Hardy  teaches  Mary  Monson  to  read  and  write,  setting 
aside  his  own  hopes  of  happiness  for  the  sake  of  hers. 

That  is  an  interesting  proposition  and  commands  the  editorial 
attention.  To  employ  a  current  phrase,  "You've  got  him  going." 
You  have  interested  him  and  he  will  read  the  synopsis  with  the 
idea  that  it  is  what  he  wants,  and  he  is  only  reading  to  make 
certain.  Now  that  you  have  the  story  advanced,  give  some  of  the 
detail. 

Paul  Langford  is  wintering  in  the  south.  He  chances  upon 
Mary,  whose  comely  face  wins  his  passing  interest.  (Her  open 
admiration  renders  an  introduction  unnecessary  and)  Paul  finds 
her  simple  charm  attractive.  He  is  surprised  to  learn  that  she 
cannot  read  when  he  offers  to  loan  her  the  novel  he  is  reading, 
and  when  Mary  sees  him  give  the  book  to  a  woman  guest  of  the 
hotel,  she  turns  to  Jack  and  begs  that  he  will  teach  her  to  read 
and  write  that  she  may  be  fit  to  marry  Paul.  Jack  assents.  Paul 
is  called  away  (but  promises  to  return  the  following  year  and), 
Mary  turns  diligently  to  her  studies  that  she  may  be  prepared  for 
his  coming.  (Growing  education  brings  to  her  a  sense  of  the  un- 
fitness  of  her  dress  and  for  the  first  time  she  evinces  an  in- 
terest in  sewing,  making  embroidery  that  she  may  gain  money  for 
clothes.)  The  intimacy  with  the  schoolteacher  insensibly  brings  a 
change  of  heart.  Mary  does  not  realize  it  until  one  day  she  sees 
him  kiss  a  little  girl,  one  of  his  pupils.  It  is  only  a  child,  but 
jealousy  flames  in  her  heart  and  for  the  first  time  she  realizes  that 
it  is  Jack  whom  she  loves.  She  rushes  from  the  scene.  Jack,  fol- 
lowing more  slowly,  seeks  to  know  the  cause  of  her  agitation  and 
against  his  shoulder  she  breathes  the  soft  confession  that  it  is  he 
whom  she  loves.  The  sadness  of  the  past  few  months  is  wiped 
out  in  the  joy  of  that  knowledge. 

That  is  289  words.  By  eliminating  the  words  in  parenthesis 
marks  the  synopsis  is  reduced  to  250  words.  A  little  study  will 
show  that  these  are  the  words  least  essential  to  the  story.  The 
fact  that  she  gets  new  clothes  is  not  as  important  as  the  dis- 
covery of  her  love  through  the  kisses  given  the  child,  but  were  it 
desired  to  cut  still  further,  the  description  of  that  scene  could  be 
dropped  with  no  great  harm. 

Let  your  story  run  as  full  as  you  will,  using  only  the  more  im- 
portant action  and  ignoring  completely  the  run  of  the  scenes. 


A  STUDY  OF  THE  SYNOPSIS  61 

Count  your  words  and  find  out  how  much  you  must  eliminate. 
Now  go  over  your  rough  draft  carefully  and  see  what  you  can 
best  spare.  Lightly  underscore  with  a  pencil  the  passages  that  are 
not  necessary.  Now  count  the  number  of  words  in  these  pas- 
sages. If  you  have  taken  out  enough,  cross  them  off,  close  up  the 
breaks  and  clean  copy.  If  you  have  marked  too  much,  leave 
some  of  it  in  if  it  really  interests,  but  remember  that  the  Editor 
wants  to  know  what  the  story  is  about  rather  than  precisely  what 
each  scene  contains.  If  he  wishes  the  latter  information  he  will 
turn  to  the  plot  of  action. 

It  is  not  absolutely  necessary  that  you  tell  your  synopsis  with 
literary  skill,  but  if  you  are  able  to  write,  this  is  the  one  place  in 
your  script  where  fine  writing  is  not  only  permissible  but  desir- 
able. You  cannot  do  very  much  fine  writing  in  250  words,  but 
you  can  work  over  and  polish  your  phrases  until  you  have  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  something  that  is  almost  like  a  prose  poem. 
Even  if  you  cannot  write  in  polished  phrase  you  can  and  should 
acquire  a  reasonably  fluent  style.  Do  not  chop  the  story  up  into 
four  and  five  word  sentences  nor  on  the  other  hand  use  too  in- 
volved a  phrase.  Both  are  bad.  Do  not,  for  example,  say : 

Jack  loves  Mary.  Mary  loves  Paul.  Paul  is  amusing  himself 
with  Mary.  She  asks  Jack  to  teach  her  to  write.  He  does  so. 
He  thinks  she  is  going  to  marry  Paul.  When  he  is  done  teaching 
he  finds  he's  the  man. 

That  is  bad,  but  no  worse  than  this  : 

Jack,  a  young  country  schoolmaster,  loves  Mary,  a  simple  coun- 
try maiden,  but  Mary,  in  her  turn,  loves  Paul,  a  visitor  from  the 
Njorth,  though  Paul  does  not  love  Mary,  but  merely  seeks  to  win 
her  love,  that  he  may  amuse  himself,  because  he  really  intends  to 
marry  Gertrude,  who  has  come  south  with  her  mother  and  is  also 
a  guest  at  the  hotel  where  Paul  is  stopping,  though  Mary  does 
not  know  this  and  Jack  is  equally  ignorant  of  the  fact. 

If  you  find  that  you  have  trouble  in  expressing  yourself,  forget 
that  you  are  writing  a  story.  Pretend  that  you  are  writing  Tom 
Jones  a  letter  telling  him  about  the  story  you  have  just  done. 
You  want  to  tell  him  in  a  few  words  what  the  plot  of  the  story  is. 
Go  ahead  and  do  it,  then  discard  the  letter  part  and  you  will  have 
a  synopsis.  Sometimes  the  beginner  is  frightened  out  of  his  ex- 
pression by  the  thought  that  he  must  write  a  story ;  like  an  Eng- 
lish barmaid  who  could  pour  a  little  vermouth  into  a  glass  of  gin 
and  bitters,  but  who  could  not  do  it  properly  after  she  was  told 
that  she  had  mixed  a  martini  cocktail.  Just  write  the  letter  and 
then  take  out  the  part  you  want. 

Don't  be  afraid  to  waste  time  in  getting  your  synopsis  just 
right.  Nine-tenths  of  your  sale  will  be  made  on  your  synopsis  and 


62  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

sometimes  on  just  a  line  or  two  from  that  synopsis.  You  may  not 
be  able  to  write  as  well  as  you  might  wish,  but  there  is  absolutely 
nothing  to  prevent  you  from  getting  into  the  synopsis  the  strong 
point  of  your  story.  You  will  get  more  money  if  your  story  is 
properly  divided  into  scenes,  but  if  your  synopsis  shows  a  really 
strong  and  original  idea,  and  that  idea  is  suitable  for  use  by  the 
company  to  which  it  is  submitted,  a  sale  will  follow. 

Go  carefully  through  your  story  and  discover  the  real  punch. 
Find  out  precisely  what  it  is  that  makes  an  appeal  to  you  and 
then  write  that  in  so  that  it  will  present  itself  to  the  Editor  in  the 
best  possible  light.  Add  such  other  detail  as  your  space  affords, 
but  if  you  need,  if  you  really  need  the  whole  space  to  tell  about 
the  punch  use  it  for  the  punch  alone.  The  Editor  has  no  time  to 
search  your  plot  of  action.  He  turns  to  the  synopsis  to  find  your 
story  there.  Put  there  what  you  most  desire  that  he  should  see 
and  leave  the  rest  in  the  plot  of  action.  If  you  have  put  enough  in 
the  front  page  to  gain  his  interest,  you  will  have  insured  the 
reading  of  the  entire  script. 


CHAPTER  IX 

CONDENSING  THE  SCRIPT 

Keeping  the  action  short — aim  to  tell  much  in  few  words — 
the  reason  for  terseness — needless  explanation — by-play 
and  the  real  action. 

It  should  be  the  aim  of  the  writer  not  so  much  to  have  each 
scene  run  not  more  than  four  or  five  lines  as  not  to  need  a 
greater  number  of  words  to  fully  explain  the  action.  Just  as  the 
leaderless  script  is  one  in  which  leader  is  not  needed  rather  than 
one  in  which  leader  is  not  shown,  so  the  terse  script  is  one  that 
needs  no  more  words  rather  than  the  short  scene  that  needs  more 
to  fully  convey  the  ideas  to  the  director. 

The  object  to  be  aimed  at  is  not  brevity  alone,  but  brevity  with 
clearness.  It  is  better  to  write  more  fully  and  get  the  idea  over 
than  to  write  the  brief  but  obscure  script,  and  it  is  probable  that 
at  first  the  scripts  of  the  novice  will  run  too  full.  It  is  better  to 
let  them  run  what  they  will  until  a  growing  familiarity  of  action 
enables  the  writer  to  condense. 

The  need  for  this  condensation  is  two-fold.  The  simple  direc- 
tion is  less  confusing  to  the  director  and  at  the  same  time  gives 
point  to  the  action  and  throws  it  into  relief.  The  average  director 
can  get  a  better  idea  of  a  short  scene  from  three  lines  of  typewrit- 


CONDENSING  THE  SCRIPT  63 

ing  than  from  thirty,  for  with  the  greater  lengths  there  will  be 
much  that  is  unnecessary  and  redundant. 

Let  us  suppose  that  Jack  and  Tom  meet  and  that  Tom  suggests 
to  Jack  that  they  go  and  see  Harry.  The  meeting  takes  place  on 
the  street.  A  person  not  familiar  with  photoplay  form  might  be 
expected  to  write  it  something  like  this : 

7-     A  street  corner,   showing  a  handsome  house  in  the  rear 
with  a  lawn  in  front.     In  the  distance  Jack  is  seen 
approaching,  walking  along  briskly  and  swinging  his  cane. 
Just  before  he  gets  to  the  corner  Tom  comes  in  from  the 
opposite  direction.     He  and  Jack  see  each  other  and  smile. 
As  they  come  closer  Jack  shakes  hands  with  Tom  and  they 
both  turn  and  face  the  camera.     They  talk  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  finally  Tom  suggests  to  Jack  that  they  go 
and  see  Harry.     Jack  says  he  doesn't  mind,   so  Tom  turns 
back  and  he  and  Jack  come  walking  toward  the  camera, 
talking  and  laughing.     They  pass  out  of  the  scene. 

Now  all  of  this  is  a  part  of  the  action  of  the  scene,  but  very 
little  of  it  is  essential  to  the  telling  of  the  story.  It  would  be 
just  as  possible  to  play  this  scene  in  front  of  a  brick  house  setting 
flush  with  the  sidewalk,  in  front  of  a  saloon  or  store  or  in  front  of 
a  vacant  lot.  That  there  is  a  handsome  house  in  the  rear  of  the 
scene  is  not  essential  to  the  story,  though  it  makes  for  a  land- 
scape effect. 

The  director,  far  more  than  the  author,  is  alive  to  the  necessity 
for  pretty  backgrounds  where  they  are  to  be  had.  Without  need- 
ing to  be  told,  he  will  procure  the  best  background  he  can  obtain 
without  too  much  trouble.  This,  then,  will  leave  merely  the  street 
corner. 

But  why  the  street  corner?  The  action  would  be  as  plain  if 
the  meeting  occurred  in  the  middle  of  the  block.  That  still  fur- 
ther cuts  it  down.  We  say  simply  "street"  instead  of  street  cor- 
ner. It  is  not  very  important  that  we  gain  a  word  here,  but  it  is 
important  that  we  reduce  the  direction  to  its  simplest  form,  for 
now  the  director  sees  that  the  corner  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
meeting.  In  the  middle  of  the  block  there  may  be  a  house  vastly 
superior  to  one  to  be  found  on  any  corner.  He  could  tell  from  the 
full  script  that  it  did  not  have  to  be  on  a  corner,  but  he  has  more 
important  matters  to  consider  than  this  and  the  more  simple  di- 
rection will  be  better  and  so  we  say  "Street"  and  let  it  go  at  that, 
Nothing  more  is  needed.  It  is  not  always  possible  to  say  merely 
that  it  is  a  street  scene.  It  may  be  that  the  scene  would  lose 
force  if  it  were  not  played  in  the  business  section  instead  of  a 


64  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

street  suggestive  of  the  suburbs.  In  such  a  case  ask  for  precisely 
the  sort  of  street  you  want.  Say  it  is  a  "business  street,"  "resi- 
dential street/'  "street  in  suburbs,"  "village  street,"  or  whatever 
you  want,  but  when  you  have  just  a  street  and  any  street  will 
do,  the  producer  will  naturally  pick  a  place  where  he  is  making 
the  rest  of  the  exteriors. 

We  have  cut  sixteen  words  down  to  one,  but  that  is  just  as  a 
starter.  It  is  not  important  that  Jack  swings  his  cane  or  even 
that  he  carries  one.  Maybe  he  will  have  one  and  perhaps  the  pro- 
ducer will  tell  him  to  swing  it,  but  if  he  doesn't  swing  the  cane  or 
even  have  it,  it  will  be  just  as  good  a  scene.  In  a  story  you  tell 
, about  the  swinging  cane  because  it  helps  to  create  in  the  mind  of 
the  reader  the  picture  of  Jack  coming  down  the  street,  but  here 
you  have  a  real  picture.  You  see  Jack  coming  down  the  street 
with  the  eye  and  not  with  the  mind.  It  is  not  necessary  to  cre- 
ate the  mental  picture  as  it  would  be  in  fiction,  because  you  have 
here  tlie  physical  and  not  merely  the  mental  picture. 

Suppose  that  the  director  used  your  stage  directions  and  had 
them  talk  "a  couple  of  minutes."  How  much  of  a  picture  do  you 
suppose  he  would  get  if  the  whole  play  were  planned  along  the 
same  generous  lines?  With  two  minutes  for  a  chat  you  would 
have  half  the  audience  asleep.  That  sort  of  stuff  simply  clogs  up 
the  script.  Let's  try  and  do  better  than  that. 

7-     Street-  Jack  comes  walking  down  the  street.     As  he  comes 
close  to  the  camera  Tom  enters  from  the  opposite  side. 
They  smile  at  each  other,   shake  hands  and  chat.     Tom 
suggests  that  they  go  down  to  see  Harry.     Jack  is  willing 
and  they  come  toward  the  camera,  passing  out  of  the  scene. 

That's  a  lot  better  because  it  is  shorter,  but  it  is  not  short 
enough  yet.  It  should  be  possible  to  do  even  better.  Let  us  study 
the  script  again.  Let's  find  out  just  what  this  scene  means. 

What  we  are  trying  to  show  is  this :  Jack  and  Tom  go  to  see 
Harry.  They  do  not  deliberately  plan  to  meet  and  go  to  see  him. 
It  happens  that  they  meet  and  that  Tom  suggests  that  they  go 
and  see  him.  That  makes  what  happens  at  Harry's  stronger  than 
if  they  had  planned  to  be  there.  That  is  the  reason  why  we  show 
the  chance  meeting  on  the  street  instead  of  simply  having  them 
come  to  Harry's  house.  It  is  an  accidental  meeting.  We  can  see 
that  because  one  is  not  waiting  for  the  other  by  appointment. 
They  just  happen  to  come  together.  Now  that's  all  we  need  to 
tell  the  director.  Let's  tell  him  just  that.  He  knows  perfectly 
well  how  two  men  will  act  when  they  are  walking  along  the  street. 
He  can  do  all  that  stuff  himself,  but  he  can't  know  that  unless  we 


CONDENSING  THE  SCRIPT  65 

tell  him,  because  he  didn't  write  the  story.     Put  down  just  what 
you  need.    Something  like  this,  perhaps : 

7-     Street-  Jack  and  Tom  meet.     They  shake  hands  and  chat. 
Tom  suggests  that  they  go  and  see  Harry.      Jack  agrees. 
They  pass  out  of  the  scene. 

That's  shorter  yet,  and  still  it's  so  plain  that  the  director  knows 
just  what  we  want  to  get.  We  have  the  meeting  and  the  sugges- 
tion of  the  visit.  Perhaps  we  can  do  better  yet.  .Let's  try  it. 
This  time  we'll  drop  the  punctuation  and  try  that  scheme  of  using 
hyphens.  We  will  get  something  that  looks  like  this: 

7-     Street-  Jack  and  Tom  meet-  greetings-  Tom  speaks-  Jack 
assents-  they  exit. 

That  is  one  line  of  typewriting  instead  of  nine  that  we  had  in 
the  first  place.  That's  a  little  different,  isn't  it?  We  have  taken 
away  none  of  the  essential  action,  the  action  -that  tells  the  story, 
but  we  have  removed  a  lot  of  useless  direction  that  any  director 
knows  enough  to  put  in  himself. 

When  he  comes  to  handle  this  scene  he  will  look  it  over.  At 
a  glance  he  sees  that  this  is  the  scene  where  Jack  and  Tom  meet. 
That's  all  he  needs  to  know.  He  tells  the  players  what  to  do. 
They  do  it  and  pass  on  to  the  next  scene. 

Suppose  that  the  scene  is  a  wedding.  We  do  not  have  to  write 
half  a  page  telling  how  the  stage  is  set  and  how  the  ceremony  is 
performed  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Suppose  that  what  we  are 
trying  to  show  is  that  Paul  comes  down  the  aisle  with  Mary  on 
his  arm  and  shrinks  back  as  he  passes  Gertrude,  whom  he  de- 
serted for  Mary.  XThat  is  a  telling  situation,  but  it  does  not  need 
many  words.  We  do  not  have  to  tell  that  a  ribbon  is  run  along 
the  pews  to  hold  the  guests  back  until  the  bridal  party  has  passed. 
We  do  not  have  to  describe  how  the  bridal  party  acts,  what  the 
minister  does  and  all  that.  All  we  need  to  say  is  that  Gertrude  is 
all  broken  up  and  that  she  faces  Paul. 

Now  it  will  be  effective  to  show  Gertrude  during  the  ceremony 
and  as  they  come  down  the  aisle,  but  that  would  take  too  much 
film,  because  we  should  have  to  show  a  part  of  the  ceremony  and 
then  the  march  down  the  aisle.  It  would  be  better  to  first  show 
Gertrude  taking  her  place  in  the  pew.  This  scene  gives  the  sug- 
gestion that  something  is  going  to  happen.  We  cannot  leave  her 
sitting  there.  We  will  have  to  break.  Perhaps  we  show  a  flash 
of  Mary  getting  out  of  the  carriage.  Now  we  have  her  come 


66  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

down  the  aisle  and  past  Gertrude.  At  the  far  end  she  meets 
Paul,  and  they  start  to  get  married.  It's  going  to  be  pretty  hard 
to  cut  from  that,  because  there  isn't  much  to  cut  back  to,  but  we 
must  do  something  to  get  out  of  the  church  or  else  show  the  en- 
tire ceremony,  if  only  a  brief  one. 

Perhaps  earlier  in  the  picture  we  showed  that  Sam  wants  to 
marry  Gertrude.  Perhaps  we  can  cut  to  Sam  wondering  what 
effect  the  marriage  will  have  on  his  chances.  Now  we  go  back 
to  the  church  and  give  Gertrude  a  chance  to  show  her  emotion. 
We  go  back  to  Sam  again  for  a  moment  and  come  back  to  the 
church  as  the  bridal  party  passes  down  the  aisle.  For  a  moment 
Paul  is  staggered  as  he  sees  Gertrude  but  he  pulls  .himself  to- 
gether and  passes  on. 

Here  we  have  done  two  sorts  of  condensation.  We  have  cut 
down  the  number  of  words  by  not  telling  all  about  the  church 
and  we  have  cut  down  the  length  of  action  by  showing  seven 
scenes  instead  of  one.  All  seven  do  not  use  up  as  much  film  as 
the  long  service  would,  and  yet  we  have  come  to  the  church  each 
time  there  was  an  important  and  essential  phase  in  the  action. 


CHAPTER  X 

PLOT  FORMATION 

Incident  is  not  plot — story  must  have  an  object — the  happy 
ending — only  one  leading  character — the  need  for  strug- 
gle— sources  of  plots. 

In  the  preceding  pages  a  working  knowledge  of  photoplay  form 
has  been  gained,  but  photoplay  form  is  merely  the  means  to  an 
end  and  not  the  end  itself.  Photoplay  form  enables  the  author 
to  present  his  story  in  its  most  attractive  guise  of  perfect  work- 
manship, but  if  there  is  no  story  to  'be  presented,  the  elaborate 
care  bestowed  upon  form  will  avail  the  author  nothing.  Form 
is  the  flesh,  the  idea  is  the  spirit ;  the  soul  that  vivifies  and  gives 
life  to  the  flesh.  The  photoplay  is  a  story  told  in  action  and  a 
story  is  no  more  than  a  plot. 

Most  beginners  are  too  prone  to  regard  connected  incident  as  A 
plot.  So  that  the  action  follows  from  one  incident  to  another 
they  are  content,  not  realizing  that  the  plot  is  that  which  makes 
these  connected  incidents  a  story  by  giving  those  incidents  some 
reason  for  being  shown. 


PLOT  FORMATION  67 

Suppose  it  occurs  to  you  that  you  can  make  a  capital  comedy  of 
the  trials  of  a  book  agent.  There  are  all  sorts  of  chances  for  fun 
in  what  happens  to  a  book  salesman,  so  you  string  a  lot  of  these 
funny  things  together  and  regard  your  work  with  satisfaction. 
You've  been  told  that  a  comedy  story  must  have  plenty  of  action 
and  humorous  action,  at  that,  so  this  must  be  a  good  story  be- 
cause it  is  just  full  of  funny  things. 

The  book  agent  starts  out  in  the  morning.  He  is  kicked  out 
of  an  office,  is  chased  from  a  house  by  an  irate  housewife  armed 
with  a  broom,  he  is  doused  with  water  at  another  place,  and  so 
it  goes  for  twenty  or  thirty  scenes,  according  to  how  your  in- 
ventiveness holds  out. 

All  your  friends  have  laughed  themselves  sick  over  the  funny 
things  you've  written,  and  they  will  assure  you  that  it  is  a 
better  story  than  those  they  see  on  the  screen,  but  not  one  of 
them  knows  enough,  probably,  to  tell  you  that  it  isn't  a  story  at 
all,  and  probably  you  would  not  believe  the  man  who  said  such  a 
thing,  yet  it  is  no  more  a  story  than  is  the  multiplication  table. 
You  do  not  have  to  stop  at  twelve  times  twelve.  You  can  run  it 
up  to  forty-two  times  twelve  or  a  hundred  and  eighteen  times 
twelve  and  still  have  a  million  times  twelve  to  look  forward  to. 
A  multiplication  table  has  a  start,  but  practically  no  ending,  and 
so  has  this  story.  You  can  write  forty  scenes  or  sixty  or  six  hun- 
dred and  still  arrive  at  no  definite  ending,  and  a  story  must  have 
a  beginning,  a  middle  and  an  end.  That's  been  the  standard  defi- 
nition of  a  play  for  centuries  and  it  holds  as  good  today  as  the 
day  it  was  written. 

This  story  has  a  start,  because  we  see  the  man  is  a  book  agent 
and  he  wants  to  sell  his  books.  It  has  no  finish  because  he  is 
not  working  toward  some  definite  end.  He  may  keep  on  want- 
ing to  sell  books  to  the  day  of  his  death.  That  would  end  the 
story,  but  we  could  keep  on  putting  in  funny  things — if  we 
can  think  of  enough — to  run  the  story  up  to  a  million  feet. 

The  story  must  not  only  have  a  start,  but  an  objective  point. 
Now  we'll  take  this  book  agent  and  write  a  real  story  about  him. 
The  agent  is  Tim  Green  and  John  Smith  kicks  him  out  of  his 
office.  That  kick  is  the  start  of  the  story  we  are  going  to  write, 
because  Tim  gets  angry  and  vows  that  he'll  sell  Smith  a  copy  of 
that  book  if  it  takes  him  a  year.  Now  there  is  the  story,  the 
story  of  how  Tim  sells  a  book  to  Smith.  When  he  makes  the 
sale  or  gives  it  up  it  ends.  Here  we  have  the  three  requisites, 
the  start,  or  beginning,  which  is  that  Smith  kicks  Tim  out  of  his 
office ;  the  middle,  or  the  efforts  Tim  makes  to  sell  the  book ;  and 
the  end,  or  climax,  which  may  be  either  that  he  does  sell  the 
book  or  gives  up  his  attempt. 


68  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Tim  gets  kicked  out  of  the  office  and  vows  revenge.  Next 
morning  he  is  sitting  on  Smith's  steps  as  Smith  leaves  for  the 
office.  Smith  kicks  Tim  off  the  steps  and  takes  a  car  for  the 
office.  Tim  takes  a  taxicab  and  gets  there  first.  He  is  waiting 
for  Smith  in  front  of  the  office  building.  He  pushes  his  way 
into  Smith's  office  a  little  later  and  when  Smith  kicks  him  out 
again  he  tries  to  crawl  through  the  transom.  Smith  has  the 
transom  nailed  down  and  Tim  calls  him  on  the  telephone.  Smith 
has  the  telephone  connection  cut.  Tim  walks  along  the  cornice 
and  so  into  the  open  window.  Smith  throws  him  out  of  the 
window.  All  day  long  Tim  pursues  Smith,  and  follows  him  home 
at  night.  Smith  steals  out  the  back  way  and  goes  to  his  club, 
leaving  Tim  on  the  steps.  Smith  has  a  good  time  at  the  club 
and  rolls  home  about  two  in  the  morning  with  a  couple  of  com- 
panions. Tim  is  asleep  on  the  steps.  He  wakes  and  not  only 
sells  Smith  the  book,  but  he  sells  one  to  each  of  his  friends. 

Can  you  see  now  how  giving  Tim  an  object  to  work  for  has 
made  something  of  a  story  out  of  mere  incident?  Before  we 
simply  laughed  when  something  happened  to  Tim,  because  it 
looked  funny.  Now  there  is  a  mental  appeal  as  well.  We  are 
interested  in  Tim.  We  want  to  see  him  sell  that  book  to  Smith. 
Every  time  Tim  meets  a  rebuff  we  are  sorry  for  him  even  while 
we  laugh  and  when,  at  last,  he  sells  the  book  we  are  genuinely 
glad.  The  plot  has  given  interest  to  the  incidents.  In  the  aim- 
less incident  we  might  see  Tim  make  twenty  sales,  and  they 
would  not  interest  us  one-tenth  as  much  as  this  one  sale,  because 
this  is  a  story  of  the  sale  of  that  book. 

The  story  starts  with  the  determination  to  sell  the  book  and 
stops  with  the  accomplishment  of  the  sale.  It  might  run  on  and 
on  and  tell  how  Smith  acted  when  he  woke  the  next  morning 
and  realized  what  he  had  done,  how  the  'books  were  delivered 
and  all  that,  but  this  is  the  story  of  the  sale  of  the  book  and 
stops  when  the  sale  is  accomplished.  Tim  has  sold  other  books 
and  will  sell  others  in  the  future,  but  they  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  story. 

But  if  we  were  telling  the  story  of  Tim  Green  and  how  he 
came  to  the  city  and  made  enough  money  selling  books  to  pay  off 
the  mortgage  on  the  old  home,  the  sale  of  that  book  to  Smith 
would  be  only  a  part  of  the  story.  The  sale  of  books  to  Jones 
and  Brown  and  Black  and  White  would  also  be  parts  of  the 
story,  for  this  story  has  a  different  plot  in  which  the  start  is 
the  fact  that  Tim  determines  to  pay  off  the  mortgage,  the  mid- 
dle is  the  sale  of  the  books,  which  enables  him  to  do  so,  and  the 
end  is  the  payment  of  the  mortgage  money.  The  story  of  the 


PLOT  FORMATION  69 

sale  to  Jones  and  Brown  and  Black  and  White  might  all  be  made 
a  story,  the  same  as  was  the  sale  of  the  book  to  Smith,  but 
the  object  aimed  at  determines  the  value  of  each  incident  and 
the  five  sales  would  merely  be  parts  of  the  story,  the  same  as  all 
the  other  sales,  which  might  have  been  shown  or  merely 
suggested. 

Every  story,  whether  it  be  comedy  or  drama,  farce  or  tragedy, 
deals  with  the  encountering  of  some  obstacle.  If  the  obstacle 
is  overcome,  the  story  is  said  to  have  a  happy  ending.  If  defeat 
is  met  with  it  is  said  to  have  an  unhappy  ending. 

At  the  first  reading  this  may  sound  like  too  broad  a  statement. 
You  may  feel  that  you  have  read  hundreds  of  stories  that  present 
no  obstacle,  but  if  you  will  study  them  more  closely  you  will 
find  that  every  real  story  has  this  element  of  "struggle"  else  it 
would  not  be  a  real  story.  The  story  of  the  man  who  has  been 
out  the  night  before  and  wants  to  keep  the  fact  from  his  wife 
may  seem  to  possess  no  struggle,  but  the  statement  of  the  story 
itself  presents  the  struggle.  He  is  struggling  to  keep  the  facts 
from  his  wife.  And  here  is  one  of  the  curious  points.  If  you  are 
telling  the  story  of  how  Sam  Sprague  sought  to  keep  his  wife 
from  knowing  that  he  was  tipsy  the  night  before  and  tried  to 
thrash  a  policeman,  the  story  has  a  happy  ending  if  he  succeeds. 
But  if  you  take  the  wife's  side,  if  you  make  it  the  story  of  how 
the  wife  tried  to  find  out  what  Sam  was  up  to  the  night  before, 
the  story  can  have  a  happy  ending  only  if  the  unfortunate  Sam 
is  exposed. 

It  may  seem  odd  that  the  same  ending  may  be  happy  or  un- 
happy, as  the  farce  is  played,  but  the  reason  is  plain  if  you  will 
take  the  trouble  to  study  it  out.  In  the  first  instance  we  are 
siding  with  Sam,  hoping  that  the  facts  will  not  come  out.  In  the 
other  development  we  are  on  the  side  of  the  wife  and  want  to 
see  Sam  exposed. 

There  can  be  only  one  central  character  in  a  story.  There  is 
a  hero  and  a  heroine,  as  a  rule,  but  there  can  be  but  one  leading 
character,  and  as  we  have  seen  above  this  can  be  either  the  hero 
or  the  heroine.  The  interest  should  not  and  generally  cannot 
be  divided  between  two  persons. 

If  the  story  is  a  romance  with  a  strong  love  interest,  you  will 
not  feel  equally  interested  in  the  man  and  the  girl.  Either  you 
will  want  to  see  a  match  for  the  girl's  sake  or  on  account  of 
the  man.  In  the  usual  triangle  of  two  women  and  a  man,  we 
either  want  the  man  to  get  the  woman  he  desires  or  we  want 
one  of  the  two  women  to  get  the  man  both  want.  We  cannot 
sit  on  and  watch  the  struggle  without  "taking  sides"  unless  the 
story  is  so  badly  told  as  not  to  interest  us  at  all. 


70  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Take  it  the  other  way  around.  There  are  two  men  and  a  girl. 
She  is  the  central  figure.  She  cannot  marry  both,  but  if  we  are 
interested  in  her  we  want  her  to  marry  the  right  one  and  per- 
haps we  feel  that  we  would  like  to  tell  her  that  she  is  foolish 
to  care  for  John,  who  has  a  wife  living,  when  Frank  is  such 
a  fine  fellow.  Frank  is  not  the  central  figure,  the  girl  holds  our 
interest,  but  because  it  is  the  girl  we  are  interested  in,  we 
want  to  see  her  marry  Frank  and  not  the  villainous  John.  The 
clever  author  will  carry  the  story  along  with  the  general  sug- 
gestion that  she  is  going  to  marry  John.  Now  and  then  it  will 
seem  that  Frank  has  a  chance,  but  the  next  scene  will  show 
John  more  firmly  entrenched  that  ever.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden, 
in  walks  that  wife  of  his  and  has  John  arrested  for  desertion  and 
non-support.  You  can  guess  what  the  finish  of  that  story  will  be. 

If  it  had  seemed  all  along  that  Frank  would  get  the  girl  and 
that  John  never  had  a  chance,  the  element  of  struggle  (which  is 
more  or  less  another  name  for  suspense)  would  have  been  so 
slight  that  it  would  scarcely  seem  a  story  at  all. 

The  fully  equipped  author  is  like  a  typist.  He  knows  that  to 
strike  a  certain  key  will  print  a  certain  letter.  He  strikes  three 
keys  and  gets  the  word  "and" ;  he  strikes  three  others  and  gets 
"the."  He  knows  which  keys  to  strike  to  get  certain  word 
effects  and  he  strikes  these  keys  almost  unconsciously. 

In  stories  his  keyboard  is  the  gamut  of  human  emotions.  He 
knows  which  to  strike  to  secure  any  desired  effect.  Sometimes 
his  fingers  slip  and  he  strikes  the  wrong  key,  just  as  the  typist 
does,  but  the  greater  the  practise  the  typist  has,  the  more  nearly 
correct  is  the  writing,  and  the  same  holds  true  of  the  keyboard  of 
the  emotions. 

But  to  have  a  plot  is  not  sufficient.  This  plot  must  be  new 
to  command  attention.  There  are  very  few  starting  ideas  or 
master  plots,  but  the  combinations  of  incident  are  many,  just 
as  the  twenty-six  letters  on  the  typewriter  keyboard  can  produce 
any  of  the  words  of  any  language.  It  should  be  the  aim  to 
get  a  new  combination  of  incident. 

It  is  practically  impossible  to  evolve  anything  that  is  abso- 
lutely new  in  every  aspect. 

Take  for  instance  the  wireless  operator  on  a  ship  in  distress 
who  sticks  at  his  post  for  forty-eight  hours  summoning  to  the 
aid  of  the  imperiled  passengers.  Surely  this  must  be  new,  be- 
cause the  wireless  telegraph  is  a  comparatively  recent  invention. 
The  use  of  the  wireless  is  new,  but  the  master  plot  is  old. 
Almost  everyone  is  familiar  with  the  story  of  the  little  boy 
whose  tiny  hand  stopped  the  trickling  flow  that  averted  the 
break  in  the  dike  that  would  have  inundated  miles  of  territory. 


PLOT  FORMATION  71 

Both  stories  have  the  same  master  plot  as  have  other  stories 
dating  back  through  the  centuries. 

When  a  story  is  returned  by  an  editor  with  the  statement 
that  it  lacks  originality,  he  does  not  mean  that  he  demands  some- 
thing absolutely  new,  'but  that  he  does  require  a  greater  freshness 
of  treatment  than  has  been  shown.  Perhaps  the  greatest  trouble 
that  the  beginner  has  is  to  determine  between  the  old  and  the 
new.  A  story  seems  fresh  to  him  because  he  has  not  seen  it, 
yet  it  may  have  been  done  on  the  screen  scores  of  times  and  in 
manuscript  hundreds  of  times.  It  may  even  be  a  true  story; 
something  that  happened  to  you  or  some  friend  and  yet  have 
found  its  parallel  elsewhere.  The  fact  that  once,  when  Uncle 
George  was  away  from  home,  Aunt  Emma  thought  that  bur- 
glars were  in  the  house  and  found  that  it  was  only  the  cat, 
does  not  make  it  impossible  that  there  sho.uld  have  been  other 
Aunt  Emmas  and  Uncle  Georges  and  other  cats. 

Ninety  per  cent,  of  the  stories  sent  into  the  studio  are  worth- 
less because  they  possess  no  originality,  and  this  applies  to  true 
stories  as  well  as  to  the  creations  of  your  imagination.  Most 
experienced  writers  avoid  the  true  story  as  they  would  the  pest  ; 
not  only  because  it  is  apt  to  be  not  new,  but  because  the  pos- 
session of  established  facts  limits  the  imagination.  You  try  to 
stick  to  the  points  of  the  real  story  and  your  imagination  is 
cramped. 

Before  you  cut  your  literary  teeth  there  are  going  to  be  a  lot 
of  old  stories  that  you  are  going  to  write  because  it  would  seem 
that  every  writer  must  do  them  at  least  once.  Probably  the 
favorite  plot  of  the  novice,  is  the  one  in  which  the  workman 
(generally  he  is  a  drunken  workman)  loses  his  job  and  goes 
to  kill  his  employer.  As  he  steals  through  the  shrubbery  he 
sees  <that  the  house  is  afire,  or  that  burglars  are  about  to  break 
in,  or  someone  is  stealing  the  employer's  little  child  or  the  child 
is  about  to  be  bitten  by  a  mad  dog.  Whatever  it  is,  he  fixes  it  up 
and  gets  a  vote  of  thanks  and  his  job  back.  That  story  has 
been  written  thousands  of  times  and  was  run  on  the  screen  about 
every  three  months  until  the  public  tired  of  it. 

Then  there's  the  little  child  that  is  stolen  by  the  gypsies. 
Twenty  years  later  mother  hears  a  street  beggar  singing. 
"My  God !  My  daughter's  voice !"  It  is  a  certainty  that  you'll 
write  one  about  the  little  grandchild  that  wins  its  grandparents' 
forgiveness  for  a  runaway  match.  Write  it,  since  you  must,  but 
do  not  waste  postage  on  it.  If  all  the  little  grandchildren  that 
"squared"  mother  or  father,  and  the  others  that  kept  mamma  and 
papa  from  getting  divorces,  were  to  march  in  single  file,  the 
procession  would  take  three  days  to  pass  a  given  point. 


72  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Mind  you,  that  isn't  saying  that  you  cannot  write  and  sell 
a  story  under  the  title  "A  Little  Child  Shall  Lead  Them."  It 
has  been  done  and  perhaps  you  can  do  it,  too,  but  remember 
that  you  have  a.  thousand  or  more  other  stories  on  the  same  lines 
to  beat  if  you  want  to  make  a  sale. 

Newspaper  paragraphs  help  to  good  plots  at  times  if  you  pick 
the  right  sort,  but  lately  some  of  the  film  stories  have  been  used 
by  newspaper  correspondents  to  "make  copy." 

The  out  of  town  correspondent  in  the  small  places  is  paid 
by  the  daily  paper  only  when  he  has  something  used.  If  news  is 
scarce  he  may  go  to  the  photoplay  theater  and  send  out  a  con- 
densation of  some  film  story  as  a  news  dispatch.  It  may  be 
printed,  other  papers  may  copy  it  and  you  may  pick  up  the 
plot  only  to  be  told  that  the  subject  has  been  used  before. 

If  you  do  use  clippings  take  the  obscure  items.  If  a  Titanic 
sinks,  hundreds  of  stories  will  be  rushed  into  the  studios  dealing 
with  that  subject  and  it  is  probable  that  every  one  will  be  re- 
jected. Every  big  news  item  is  taken  by  scores  and  hundreds 
of  authors.  When  Andrew  Carnegie  interested  himself  in  An- 
drew Toth,  a  mine  worker  who  had  served  half  a  lifetime  for  a 
crime  of  which  he  was  innocent,  fully  five  hundred  manuscripts 
were  written  from  the  idea.  None  sold  because  each  studio 
was  afraid  that  some  other  film  maker  would  get  out  a  story  on 
the  subject  first. 

The  same  paper  that  told  of  Toth  might  have  carried  a  dozen 
good  tips.  Seek  your  inspiration  from  the  five  or  ten  line  local 
item  and  let  your  imagination  do  the  rest.  If  you  can  really 
write  stories,  all  your  imagination  will  need  is  a  gentle  push  to 
get  it  started.  Take  an  item  like  this,  and  see  what  it  will 
suggest : 

In  the  Children's  Court  yesterday  James  Donovan,  nine  years  of  age, 
was  charged  with  selling  papers  without  a  permit.  Agent  Simms,  of  the 
Children's  Aid  Society,  reported  that  investigation  disclosed  the  fact  that 
the  boy  had  been  supporting  two  younger  children  while  their  father  was 
in  the  hospital.  The  Society  will  care  for  the  three  until  the  father  is 
discharged. 

You  can  write  a  dozen  stories  from  that.  You  do  not  have 
to  stick  to  those  facts.  Start  with  the  idea  of  the  boy  who 
makes  the  home  and  then  let  your  fancy  do  the  rest. 

It  is  possible  to  get  a  suggestion  from  a  copyrighted  story  that 
will  give  you  something  utterly  unlike.  If  the  result  is  utterly 
unlike  you  are  justified  in  using  the  inspiration,  since  that  is  all 
you  do  use. 

Take  Dr.  Jekyl  and  Mr.  Hyde,  for  example.  That  would 
seem  to  be  a  pretty  hard  story  to  steal,  yet  the  master  plot  is 
merely  that  of  dual  personality  treated  by  a  master  of  style  and 


PLOT  FORMATION  73 

imagination.  You  cannot  make  another  Jekyl  and  Hyde,  but 
suppose  your  character  is  a  man  who  is  a  good  husband  and  a 
loving  father,  unless  he  is  drinking  and  that  a  single  glass  of 
whiskey  will  transform  him  into  a  brute. 

You  can  work  that  into  a  drama  from  several  angles  or  you 
can  turn  it  into  a  comedy.  It  doesn't  look  much  like  a  comedy, 
but  just  suppose  that  the  man  is  a  miser  and  hordes  every  penny, 
but  the  moment  he  tastes  alcohol  he  spends  lavishly.  That  is  a 
distinctly  comedy  aspect  of  a  seemingly  serious  theme. 

Most  stories  do  have  their  serious  and  comedy  aspects  and  the 
tragedy  that  fails  may  sell  quickly  as  a  comedy  or  even  a  farce. 

Having  found  an  acceptable  plot,  the  next  question  is  one  of 
possibility  and  plausibility.  A  story  may  be  wholly  possible  and 
yet  utterly  lack  plausibility.  One  author  complained  that  a  studio 
had  rejected  the  story  of  an  operation  performed  by  a  surgeon- 
missionary's  wife  in  the  jungles  of  Africa.  He  offered  to  give 
names  and  addresses  to  prove  the  correctness  of  his  plot.  It  was 
entirely  possible  that  the  operation  was  performed,  but  it  would 
not  seem  plausible  to  the  audiences.  It  was  a  thing  so  excep- 
tional that  it  would  carry  no  conviction. 

You  may  argue  with  the  editor  as  to  the  possibility  of  this 
thing  and  that,  but  he  cannot  pass  the  argument  along  to  the 
millions  who  might  see  the  film,  and  so  he  passes  the  story  back 
because  it  is  not  plausible,  not  because  it  is  not  possible  that 
such  a  thing  may  have  happened.  Here  we  have  the  converse 
of  the  over-common  true  story.  Do  not  follow  the  commonplace, 
but  on  the  other  hand  do  not  offer  the  fact  so  unusual  that  it  must 
be  seen  to  be  believed. 

The  question  of  expense,  too,  cuts  an  important  figure.  If  you 
write  a  fiction  story  and  have  the  troops  go  marching  by,  you 
do  not  have  to  pay  each  man  from  two  to  five  dollars  a  day.  If 
you  write  of  a  steamer  wreck,  it  costs  no  more  to  wreck  an  ocean 
liner  than  a  small  rowboat,  but  in  a  picture  you  must  wreck  the 
steamer  or  else  find  one  already  wrecked.  Do  not  figure  that  they 
can  make  a  trick  picture  because  "they  can  make  a  camera  do 
anything."  They  can,  but  even  then  they  must  get  the  steamer 
and  it  costs  money  to  charter  a  steamer  of  the  proper  size. 

Perhaps  in  a  farce  you  have  the  comedian  thrown  off  the 
train  because  he  cannot  pay  his  fare.  First  you  see  him  in  the 
car  and  then  train  stops  and  he  is  kicked  off.  It  costs  a  lot  of 
money  to  build  a  car  set  and  it  will  cost  $50  to  stop  the  train 
between  stations,  since  you  must  hire  a  special  train,  but  it  will 
cost  only  $5  or  $10  if  you  use  a  street  car  instead,  and  it  will  be 
much  less  trouble  because  a  car  will  be  hired  on  some  line  near  the 
studio  where  it  might  be  necessary  to  go  fifty  or  one  hundred 


74  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

miles  to  get  the  train,  since  it  must  be  worked  on  some  little 
traveled  branch  instead  of  the  main  line.  It  costs  nothing  to 
picture  a  man  getting  on  or  off  a  train  standing  in  the  station. 
The  player  merely  climbs  the  steps  and  gets  down  on  the  other 
side  or  climbs  up  from  the  opposite  side  and  comes  down  on 
the  camera  side  of  the  train  as  though  he  had  just  alighted. 

Ships  in  dock  can  be  gotten  by  most  companies,  even  those 
in  Chicago,  but  a  ship  that  must  be  moved  must  be  chartered, 
and  this  mounts  the  cost  up  tremendously  without  giving  much 
return  in  effect. 

Automobiles  are  used  to  carry  the  players  around  for  the 
outside  scenes  and  are  always  at  hand.  It  is  better  to  use  an 
auto  than  a  carriage  where  there  is  a  choice. 

Stories  partly  in  America  and  partly  in  foreign  countries  are 
difficult  to  produce  and  are  seldom  convincing.  It  is  possible 
to  play  the  foreign  scenes  in  a  succession  of  interior  sets,  but 
have  no  scenes  calling  for  exteriors,  houses  or  other  structures, 
Mexican  and  South  American  plays  can  be  made  by  those  com- 
panies located  in  the  south  or  southwest,  but  it  is  not  possible,  for 
example,  to  give  a  convincing  street  scene  in  Paris  or  Berlin 
without  going  to  those  cities. 

Costume  plays  add  to  the  cost,  since  costumes  must  be  fur- 
nished by  the  company;  the  players  being  required  to  supply 
only  modern  costumes.  When  you  see  a  costume  play  on  the 
screen  you  may  feel  assured  that  there  was  some  particular 
reason  for  the  production  that  would  have  no  bearing  on  your 
own  script  should  you  send  it  in.  It  may  be  that  the  company 
came  into  possession  of  the  costumes  and  wrote  the  plays  to  fit, 
or  the  owner  of  the  company  may  have  wanted  a  picture  of  a 
certain  type.  The  chance  of  sale  is  so  limited  that  it  will  not 
pay  you  to  write  costume  plays. 

Most  studios  are  willing  to  go  to  considerable  expense  now 
and  then  in  producing  something  out  of  the  ordinary  for  the 
sake  of  the  advertisement  and  because  of  the  larger  European 
sales,  but  it  is  best  to  leave  the  costly  productions  to  the  studio 
force  or  wait  until  you  are  able  to  get  direct  orders  from  the 
Editor.  As  a  rule  most  manufacturers  keep  the  cost  down 
and  look  to  the  plot  to  make  the  strength  rather  than  to  the  me- 
chanical effects. 

Another  requisite  of  the  good  plot  is  a  small  acting  cast. 
Some  companies  want  plays  that  can  use  many  persons,  but  the 
story  must  be  held  to  not  more  than  four  or  five  people  if  it  is 
to  be  clear  and  understandable.  Other  characters  may  'be  intro- 
duced as  required,  but  the  narrative  must  center  about  one  per- 
son and  the  bulk  of  the  work  of  developing  that  narrative  should 


EVOLVING  A  PLOT  75 

fall  to  not  more  than  four  or  five  persons.  More  active  char- 
acters will  be  confusing  and  the  audience  cannot  carry  all  of  the 
identifications  in  their  heads.  Use  as  many  persons  as  the  story 
needs,  but  make  prominent  only  a  few  and  let  them  tell  the 
story.  The  butler  who  brings  in  the  letter  is  a  character,  but 
he  does  not  figure  prominently.  The  maid  who  assists  her 
mistress  to  elope  is  important. 

And  lastly,  let  me  make  a  plea  for  the  plot  with  the  happy 
ending.  There  are  many  "strong"  stories  where  a  happy  end- 
ing is  possible,  but  you  are  not  required  to  write  these.  Write 
the  wholesome,  joyous  story  and  leave  the  morbid  and  the  un- 
pleasant to  others.  The  temptation  is  strong  to  write  the  tragic 
plot,  but  the  demand  is  for  pleasant  things.  You  may  be  im- 
pressed with  "Romeo  and  Juliet,"  but  the  greater  appeal  is  made 
by  the  heart  interest  story  and  the  demand  is  so  much  more 
urgent  for  this  class  of  plays  that  you  will  find  it  profitable  to 
hold  to  pleasant  things  and  leave  the  tragic  to  others. 


CHAPTER  XI. 
EVOLVING   A   PLOT 

Deriving  plots  from  nothing — from  the  title — from  a  start — 
from  a  climax — knowledge  of  the  subject  necessary — 
writing  to  order — from  suggestion. 

Various  writers  have  differing  ideas  as  to  the  best  manner  of 
evolving  the  plot.  The  beginner  will,  for  a  time,  do  well  to 
wait  for  inspiration,  to  wait  until  he  has  a  story  to  write  be- 
fore he  starts  to  write  it,  but  even  the  beginner  can  find  good 
practise  and  instruction  in  the  evolution  of  the  plot  from 
nothing. 

The  best  plot  is  apt  to  be  the  one  that  conies  to  you  naturally 
and  seems  almost  to  write  itself.  That  story  is  almost  certain 
to  be  better  than  the  one  that  is  manufactured,  but  the  writer 
cannot  always  wait  for  these  inspirations  and  it  is  well  to  learn 
how  to  create  a  plot  from  a  suggestion  so  slight  that  it  seems  to 
be  nothing. 

One  favorite  way  is  to  think  up  a  catchy  title  and  write  a  story 
to  fit  the  title.  Suppose  that  we  take  "His  Happy  Home,"  which 
is  the  first  that  occurs.  That  sort  of  title  is  equally  applicable 
to  a  drama  or  a  farce,  but  as  a  farce  the  title  should  be  a  sar- 


76  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

casm  and  the  home  anything  but  happy.  His  wife  nags  and  his 
children  worry  him.  What  next?  Does  he  start  to  run  away 
from  that  happy  home,  or  does  he  make  the  home  really  happy? 
In  the  first  of  these  we  might  make  the  escape  a  dream,  and 
he  wakes  to  find  himself  still  at  home,  but  dream  plays  have 
been  overdone  and  to  most  Editors  "It  was  a  dream"  is  like  a 
red  rag  to  a  bull.  As  a  rule  the  dream  play  is  the  last  resort 
of  an  author  whose  story  is  too  wildly  improbable  to  pass  as 
anything  else. 

If  he  runs  away  from  home  he  must  be  brought  back,  other- 
wise the  moral  is  misplaced  and  there  will  be  as  many  who  will 
think  of  the  deserted  wife  as  will  rejoice  in  the  victim's  escape. 

On  the  other  hand  suppose  that  the  home  really  is  happy  until 
the  wife  turns  reformer  or  suffragette  or  something  and  the 
once  happy  home  is  overrun  by  weak-minded  men  and  strong- 
minded  women. 

Here  is  another  idea.  Hubby  is  henpecked.  He  doesn't  even 
dare  speak  in  his  own  home.  There  is  a  club  of  henpecks  and 
in  the  gymnasium  each  has  a  dummy  figure  of  his  wife  that 
he  uses  as  a  punching  bag.  Hubby  talks  of  his  "other  wife" 
in  his  sleep  and  the  wife  gets  jealous,  with  the  result  that  the 
wife  and  the  other  wives  descend  on  the  club  and  put  it  out  of 
business.  'Now  we  call  it  "His  Other  Wife."  We  have  the 
story  and  we  still  have  the  title  to  suggest  another  story. 

As  a  drama  the  happy  home  may  be  wrecked  by  the  business 
ambition  of  the  man,  by  the  social  ambition  of  the  woman,  by 
some  tempter,  either  man  or  woman,  by  the  growing  dissipation 
of  the  husband,  through  the  loss  of  money,  through  the  death  of 
an  only  child  or  any  other  means. 

In  working  from  the  climax  you  conceive  a  strong  situation 
and  then  work  back  to  the  start.  Suppose  that  we  take  this  idea : 
A  man  loves  a  woman  other  than  his  wife.  In  a  moment  of 
danger  he  may  save  but  one  of  the  two  women.  Which  one 
does  he  save,  the  woman  he  loves  or  the  woman  who  loves  him? 
Why  did  he  make  his  choice? 

Don't  try  to  answer  your  question  yet.  You  are  not  in  a  posi- 
tion to  answer,  for  you  do  not  know  the  facts  of  the  case.  First 
manufacture  the  facts  by  working  back  to  the  start  of  the  story, 
and  then  make  your  decision.  You  have  a  man  and  two  women, 
one  of  whom  is  his  wife.  Now  you  can  either  first  show  the 
man  and  his  wife  or  else  go  back  of  the  marriage  and  show,  if 
you  wish,  that  the  other  woman  really  has  the  more  logical 
claim  on  his  affections. 

Here  again,  you  have  two  choices.  Shall  the  other  woman  be 
the  man's  mistress  or  shall  she  nurse  a  hopeless  but  chaste  pas- 


EVOLVING  A  PLOT  77 

sion.  Suppose  that  we  decide  in  favor  of  the  former.  The  man 
first  marries  and  then  meets  a  woman  of  superior  mental  or 
physical  attraction.  He  forgets  his  vows  and  turns  to  her.  The 
wife  discovers  the  situation,  but  is  helpless,  making  her  feeble 
fight  with  no  hope  of  victory.  Here  you  have  the  resignation 
of  the  wife  to  contrast  with  the  evil  triumph  of  the  other  woman. 
Then  comes  the  big  moment.  The  man  must  make  a  quick  de- 
cision. One  woman  is  guilty  in  her  love,  the  other  is  not.  In 
that  great  moment  his  heart  turns  again  to  the  woman  to  whom 
he  promised  protection  and  he  bears  her  in  safety  not  alone  to 
life,  but  to  a  new  happiness.  It  may  be  that  the  other  woman 
is  saved  in  some  means  and  lives  on,  suffering  a  greater  pun- 
ishment in  the  success  of  her  rival  than  if  death  had  claimed  her. 

If  the  decision  is  made  in  favor  of  the  woman  he  loves,  the 
end  can  be  nothing  but  misery.  This  is  not  because  of  the 
moral  of  the  church,  but  the  moral  of  the  picture.  In  stories 
an  evil  action  must  be  punished  by  evil.  The  spectre  of  the 
dead  wife  must  ever  stand  between  them.  Happiness  will  not 
be  possible  because  it  will  outrage  the  sense  of  justice.  The 
man's  unhappiness  is  the  punishment  for  his  crime. 

Taking  the  story  of  the  purer  love  for  the  woman  not  his 
wife,  we  have  a  new  set  of  developments.  We  find  the  man  who 
has  married  for  sonic  reason  other  than  love,  in  the  fulfillment 
of  a  death-bed  promise,  to  save  a  woman's  name,  or  any  other 
chivalrous  reason.  The  woman  he  loves  knows  and  under- 
stands. The  love  is  pure,  but  hopeless.  Then  conies  the  de- 
cision. If  the  wife  is  left,  the  road  is  open  to  marriage.  If  the 
wife  is  saved  love  is  lost.  It  is  the  other  woman  who  makes 
the  decision  in  accordance  with  her  entire  course  of  action. 
She  makes  him  save  the  wife  turning  to  face  the  death  she  does 
not  fear. 

Here,  too,  it  is  possible  to  work  to  the  happy  finish.  In  spite 
of  all  the  man  can  do,  the  wife  is  not  saved.  The  other  woman 
survives.  Honorable  marriage  is  now  open  to  them  and  they 
have'  no  cause  for  reproach.  It  is  what  we  have  been  wishing 
for  all  along  and  did  not  dare  hope  for. 

The  best  climax  is  that  which  comes  as  a  surprise  and  satis- 
fies the  wishes  of  the  audience  after  it  has  been  made  to  appear 
that  this  consummation  is  utterly  impossible. 

'Having  worked  back  to  the  start,  perhaps  we  find  that  the 
story  moves  in  some  other  direction  toward  a  new  climax. 
Perhaps  the  discovery  of  the  husband's  infidelity  caused  the  death 
of  the  wife  and,  all  too  late  he  discovers  that  it  was  his  wife 
whom  he  really  loved.  He  faces  his  punishment  in  a  loveless 


78  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

life,  for  now  his  illicit  love  has  turned  to  hatred.  In  death  the 
wife  has  triumphed  over  the  woman  she  could  not  vanquish  in 
life. 

A  third  method  is  to  start  with  the  beginning  of  the  story  and 
work  for  the  climax.  Here  the  start  of  the  story  is  the  com- 
mencement of  the  reasoning  instead  of  the  climax. 

Suppose  a  man  passionately  devoted  to  a  woman  who  does 
not  love  him.  How  does  he  win  her  love?  Suppose  that  they 
are  married.  He  may  win  her  love  through  his  tender  care  or  he 
may  win  her  through  pretended  indifference.  He  may  love  her 
enough  to  let  her  get  a  divorce  that  she  may  marry  a  man  she 
thinks  she  loves,  but  that  very  self  sacrifice  may  show  her  which 
is  the  truer  heart.  She  may  have  a  harmless  love  affair  with 
another  man  and  turn  to  her  husband  on  the  rebound,  or  any 
one  of  perhaps  a  hundred  developments  may  be  used. 

We  may  work  to  the  climax  and  then  find  that  it  would  be  bet- 
ter for  the  story  if  the  woman  loved  the  man  instead  of  the  re- 
verse. It  is  a  simple  matter  to  turn  back  to  the  fresh  start. 

It  may  not  come  easy  to  the  author  at  the  start  to  evolve  plots 
from  little  or  nothing,  but  perseverance  will  bring  results  in 
exact  ratio  to  the  training  the  imagination  receives.  Some  per- 
sons are  too  matter  of  fact  to  invent  plots.  There  is  little  hope 
for  them,  but  given  the  ability  to  think  out  a  story  plot,  train- 
ing will  bring  development  just  as  gymnasium  work  will  pro- 
duce better  muscular  proportions. 

The  man  or  woman  who  would  write  stories  must  study  con- 
stantly to  acquire  a  general  fund  of  information.  If  you  write 
of  a  broker  you  must  know  how  brokers  act,  if  you  write  of 
firemen  you  must  know  the  life  of  the  fireman.  One  play  that 
caused  much  merriment  in  the  studios  had  an  unframed  photo- 
graph of  the  broker's  office  staff  on  the  mantel  of  his  dining- 
room  that  he  might  point  out  to  his  daughter  the  man  he 
thought  stole  the  bonds.  That  would  do  very  well  for  the 
home  of  a  mechanic  who  might  have  a  photograph  of  the  shop 
force  taken  by  some  itinerant  photographer,  but  it  was  wholly 
out  of  place  in  the  dining-room  of  a  wealthy  man  of  reasonably 
good  taste. 

If  you  write  of  courts,  follow  court  procedure.  If  you  do  not 
know  what  that  procedure  is,  ask  some  lawyer.  If  you  write 
of  physicians  and  know  little  about  it,  consult  a  doctor.  Consult 
him  also  about  diseases  with  which  you  are  not  familiar. 

If  your  hero  is  jailed  on  a  false  charge,  do  not  have  him 
turned  loose  the  moment  his  innocence  is  proven.  You  cannot 
go  right  down  to  the  jail  and  tell  the  Warden  that  it  is  all  right. 


DEVELOPING  THE  PLOT  79 

If  he  has  been  arraigned,  but  not  yet  tried,  he  must  go  before 
the  committing  magistrate  and  there  the  case  will  be  dismissed. 
If  he  has  been  tried  and  sentenced,  only  a  pardon  from  the 
Governor  or  a  reopening  of  the  case  will  suffice. 

If  your  hero  is  about  to  be  executed  and  you  suddenly  dis- 
cover the  proof  of  innocence,  you  do  not  drop  around  to  the 
jail  and  tell  the  Warden  to  wait.  The  Warden  is  not  a  judge 
and  cannot  pass  on  the  evidence.  You  must  get  a  court  stay  or 
appeal  to  the  Governor  for  a  reprieve.  The  Warden  is  placed 
in  his  position  to  obey  the  orders  of  the  court.  The  order  of 
the  court  is  that  the  man  must  be  put  to  death.  That  is  all  the 
Warden  has  to  do  with  the  matter. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  be  a  westerner  to  write  western  stories, 
nor  to  have  been  in  India  to  write  of  the  East  Indies,  but  it  is 
necessary  to  know  something  of  the  life  and  habits  of  the  people 
you  write  about  and  to  know  sufficient  to  be  able  to  write 
intelligently. 

It  is  not  probable  that  you  would  have  the  millionaire  banker 
go  to  work  with  a  tin  dinner  pail  in  his  hand  or  have  the  ditch 
digger  ride  to  his  work  in  a  taxicab,  but  you  may  make  some 
trifling  mistake  just  as  ridiculous  as  this  to  those  who  know. 
The  millionaire,  for  example,  who  takes  five  one  thousand  dollar 
bills  out  of  his  pocket  and  pays  for  the  automobile  he  is  buying 
is  just  as  improbable  and  just  as  laughable  as  the  millionaire 
who  puts  on  overalls  before  he  takes  his  place  at  his  mahogany 
desk. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

DEVELOPING    THE    PLOT 

Possibilities  of  the  plot — getting  the  plot  on  paper — the 
picture  eye — do  not  be  afraid  to  change — watch  for  situ- 
ations— the  increasing  interest. 

Having  evolved  the  plot,  the  next  thing  to  do  is  to  develop 
the  plot  into  the  complete  play.  You  may  have  a  good  plot 
and  still  fail  of  success  because  the  development  is  not  as  good 
as  the  idea. 

.It  is  a  grave  error  to  suppose  that  your  plot  can  have  'but  a 
single  development.  It  is  capable  of  change  so  long  as  the 
script  remains  in  your  possession.  As  was  pointed  out  in  the 


80  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

last  chapter,  each  start  has  many  endings  just  as  every  ending 
may  be  arrived  at  from  many  points.  Regard  the  start  as  a  dot 
in  the  center  of  a  circle  and  the  circumference  as  the  climax. 
From  the  center  you  can  work  out  to  any  point  of  the  circum- 
ference. Because  you  have  the  plot  fairly  well  in  mind  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  not  change  it  when  you  have  come  to 
the  work  of  development. 

In  developing  your  plot  you  start  from  the  center  and  work 
outward.  You  have  a  certain  point  in  mind  at  which  you  are 
aiming,  but  as  the  story  grows,  scene  by  scene,  it  may  be  that 
you  will  find  that  it  is  taking  another  direction.  Follow  the 
lead  and  see  what  it  produces.  If  you  do  not  like  it  you  can  go 
back  to  your  original  idea,  but  often  you  will  find  the  new 
idea  better  than  the  old. 

The  component  parts  of  the  photoplay  are  like  the  digits  in  a 
written  sum.  Let  your  scene  represent  the  figure  one  and  the 
second  move  number  three,  and  you  have  the  sum  of  thirteen. 
If  the  second  move  is  four,  you  have  another  combination. 
If  the  number  of  the  start  is  two  instead  of  one  you  have  another 
combination.  With  two  digits  you  have  99  possible  combina- 
tions, with  three  990,  and  with  four  9999.  So  it  is  with  your 
story.  Each  added  factor  makes  for  a  new  form.  Examine 
these  factors  well  and  decide  which  will  best  suit  your  purpose 
and  your  mood. 

That  last  advice  may  sound  odd,  but  you  will  find  there  are 
times  when  you  can  do  better  with  comedy  than  with  drama 
or  fare  better  with  the  story  of  adventure  than  with  the  romance, 
or  vice  versa.  If  you  want  to  write  of  adventure  and  start 
to  write  of  love,  you  spoil  a  chance  to  write  a  good  adventure 
story  by  writing  a  poor  romance. 

It  is  only  the  veteran  who  can  sit  down  to  the  machine  and 
tell  himself  that  he  is  going  to  write  a  romance,  a  comedy  or 
whatever  it  is  he  needs  at  the  moment.  The  new  writer  will 
do  better  to  humor  his  fancy  a  little  until  he  has  the  work 
better  in  hand. 

-^  And  do  not  be  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  write  a  story  of  any 
sort.  Keep  at  the  evolution  until  you  have  the  main  points 
pretty  well  in  mind  and  in  orderly  arrangement.  Then  when 
you  go  to  the  machine  you  can  write  that  story  if  no  new  de- 
velopment presents  itself. 

It  is  not  possible  to  lay  down  exact  rules  for  writing.  One 
author  may  work  best  under  pressure  and  another  need  leisure 
and  quiet,  but  in  most  cases  it  is  a  mistake  to  sit  and  stare  at 
the  machine  in  the  hope  that  an  idea  may  come.  Unconsciously 
you  resent  the  fact  that  you  must  write,  and  so  you  cannot. 


DEVELOPING  THE  PLOT  81 

You  can  think  as  well  in  another  part  of  the  room,  on  the  street, 
wherever  you  may  go.  You  will  most  probably  do  better  work 
if  you  do  not  approach  the  machine  until  you  are  really  ready 
to  begin  work. 

You  may  find  that  it  is  better  to  write  the  synopsis  or  sketch 
the  action  in  on  a  slip  of  paper,  suggesting  with  a  word  or  two 
the  entire  scene,  but  most  writers  are  able  to  keep  the  plot 
vivid  in  their  mind  without  the  aid  of  memoranda.  Experiment 
until  you  find  what  system  suits  you  best.  No  one  can  tell 
but  yourself. 

The  important  thing  in  this  first  draft  is  not  to  let  the  tech- 
nique of  form  get  the  better  of  the  technique  of  development. 
The  man  who  perpetually  stops  to  argue  with  himself  whether 
this  is  an  "on  screen"  or  a  bust  or  stops  to  figure  whenever 
he  should  write  "same  as"  or  "back  to,"  will  never  get  very  far 
as  a  creative  writer.  He  burdens  his  mind  so  much  with  the 
details  that  he  cramps  it  for  the  broader  work.  The  artist  who 
worries  whether  there  ought  to  be  seven  or  nine  hairs  in  his 
smallest  brush  will  never  paint  a  masterpiece.  Your  first  draft 
should  be  made  in  the  first  glow  of  enthusiasm.  Now,  if  ever, 
you  are  inspired.  Catch  the  inspiration  before  it  dies.  There  is 
plenty  of  time  later  for  revision  and  editing.  Occupy  your 
mind  only  with  the  details  of  the  plot,  with  making  the  story 
real,  and  you  can  get  the  rest  with  revision  if  it  is  needed. 

If  you  have  waited  long  enough  you  have  a  pretty  good  idea 
of  your  characters  and  about  how  they  would  act.  Now  try  and 
see  them  actually  act.  Let  them  go  through  with  the  action  just 
as  you  want  it  played  and  note  down  the  leading  actions  as  they 
play  it. 

This  is  what  has  been  called  the  "picture  eye,"  the  ability  to 
visualize  words  or  thoughts  into  actions.  Unless  you  can  see 
the  action  with  your  mental  vision  you  cannot  write  it  and  your 
picture  will  be  flat  and  unconvincing. 

You  do  not  have  to  write  all  the  action  you  see,  but  only  the 
action  that  helps  to  tell  the  story.  You  do  not,  for  example,  say : 

Jim  flicks  the  ashes  from  his  cigarette,   shoots  down  his 
cuffs,   straightens  his  tie,   throws  away  his  cigarette, 
and  with  a  confident  air  approaches  Edith.  Sitting  on 
the  sofa  "beside  her,  he  takes  her  hand  and  in  his  rich, 
musical  voice  tells  her  the  old,  old  story. 

That  would  all  be  very  well  if  you  were  writing  a  novel  and 
getting  so  much  for  each  thousand  words,  but  in  photoplay  you 


82  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

want  to  give  the  director  only  the  really  important  business. 
Instead  of  all  the  petty  details  you  give  just  the  essential  action 
and  write: 

Jim  crosses  to  Edith-  sits-  proposes. 

This  will  save  you  time  and  save  the  director  both  time  and 
trouble.  Jim  has  to  cross  the  room.  He  has  to  sit  beside  Edith. 
He  has  to  propose.  Those  are  three  essential  facts.  The  rest  are 
details.  He  need  not  shoot  down  his  cuffs  and  he  does  not  have 
to  be  smoking. 

Lose  yourself  as  completely  as  you  can  in  your  story.  Get 
interested  in  it  and  think  of  it  as  a  story  and  not  as  something 
you  have  to  write.  Do  not  even  think  of  technique.  Be  occu- 
pied only  with  the  running  plot.  If  your  leader  runs  too  long, 
let  it  run.  If  your  letter  threatens  to  go  over  the  word  limit, 
let  it  go.  You  can  condense  when  you  cannot  do  creative  work. 
Catch  the  story  while  you  are  in  the  mood.  That  twenty  word 
leader  can  be  cut  to  five  when  the  fires  of  genius  have  burned 
out  and  you  are  raking  over  the  ashes  of  revision,  but  you 
haven't  the  time  right  now  to  stop  and  worry  about  a  leader. 
The  main  point  is  to  get  the  warm,  living  story  down  on  paper. 
Give  it  every  ounce  that  there  is  in  you.  When  you  have  it 
all  down  on  paper  where  it  can't  get  away  from  you,  then  you 
can  stand  back  and  look  at  it  and  criticise  and  revise,  but  you 
must  first  catch  your  story. 

In  the  course  of  time  you'll  probably  reach  the  point  where 
the  best  means  of  handling  a  given  situation  will  at  once  sug- 
gest itself  to  you  and  you  can  write  a  story  and  put  it  right  into 
the  mail  box  with  a  reasonably  good  chance  of  a  sale,  but  until 
you  reach  that  point  you  must  count  on  revision  and  so  you 
need  not  be  too  particular  with  your  first  draft.  It's  what  the 
Editor  sees  that  counts  and  you  may  change  your  story  half  a 
dozen  times  between  the  first  draft  and  the  last  Even  after  it 
has  gone  and  come  back  again  you  may  find  things  to  be 
changed.  That  man  is  hopeless  who  is  bound  to  the  first  de- 
velopment of  the  script  unless  he  is  one  of  those  few  who 
either  write  a  good  story  the  first  time  or  else  write  another  one. 

There  is  a  class  of  writer  who  cannot  revise.  He  must  do 
his  best  work  the  first  time  or  else  he  will  revise  and  work- 
over  his  script  until  he  has  taken  every  particle  of  life  out  of  it. 

Stage  dancers  have  a  technical  term,  "elevation,"  that  has 
reference  to  their  carriage.  If  the  dancer  seems  to  reach  down 
and  tap  the  floor  with  his  feet  while  floating  about,  instead  of 
showing  that  he  is  springing  from  the  floor,  he  is  said  to  have 
good  elevation. 


DEVELOPING  THE  PLOT  83 

The  story,  too,  must  have  elevation.  There  must  be  the  same 
appearance  of  lightness,  the  same  careful  concealment  of  hard 
work.  It  must  seem  spontaneous  and  natural.  The  action  must 
move  easily  and  consistently  from  scene  to  scene,  each  ad- 
vancing in  some  degree  the  plot  itself.  There  should  be  no 
undue  bustle  and  confusion,  none  of  the  running  in  and  out  of 
scenes  that  Editors  call  "going  and  coming."  In  comedy  there 
must  be  greater  liveliness  of  action,  but  in  comedy  or  drama 
there  should  be  no  flurry  of  entrances  or  exits.  In  drama  the 
movement  of  the  story  should  be  like  the  flow  of  a  great  river. 
There  should  be  no  appearance  of  hurry,  but  always  the  sug- 
gestion of  strength  and  power  in  reserve.  But  like  the  river 
approaching  the  rapids,  there  must  come  the  quickening  move- 
ment and  then  the  rush  of  the  climax. 

Keep  the  action  well  proportioned.  Do  not  have  people  ap- 
pear in  houses  other  than  their  own  without  apparent  reason. 
Do  not  drag  the  characters  around  from  place  to  place  just  to 
have  them  handy.  The  whole  value  of  a  photoplay  depends 
upon  the  closeness  with  which  it  simulates  real  life.  Write  of 
real  people  performing  natural  actions.  Do  not  put  in  matter 
that  does  not  properly  belong  "to  make  it  seem  more  interesting." 
Get  the  interest  out  of  your  plot  and  you  will  not  have  to  send 
your  hero  into  the  air  in  a  flying  machine  or  to  the  bottom  of 
the  ocean  in  a  submarine.  There  are  good  stories  to  be  written 
around  aeroplanes  or  submarines,  and  perhaps  you  can  write 
those  stories,  but  do  not  drag  them  into  stories  in  which  they 
do  not  belong  simply  because  you  cannot  get  natural  interest  and 
feel  that  you  must  do  something  desperate  to  command  atten- 
tion. Do  not  bolster  up  a  weak  story  with  an  elephant  or  a 
railroad  wreck.  Put  more  story  in. 

Keep  your  eyes  open  for  striking  situations  and  effective  bits 
of  business.  Do  not,  as  a  rule,  write  in  the  by-play,  but  if  you 
get  something  really  good,  write  it  out  for  the  director.  One  of 
the  best  of  the  directors  owes  his  success  largely  to  the  fact 
that  no  matter  how  commonplace  the  story  may  be,  he  gives  it 
one  or  two  very  human  touches  that  makes  the  whole  produc- 
tion appear  real  and  vivid.  It  may  not  be  an  important  action. 
It  may  have  no  real  bearing  on  the  plot,  but  it  is  like  the  little 
leaven  that  Icaveneth  the  whole.  It  gives  reality  to  the  entire 
story.  More  than  one  story  has  hung  on  in  other  studios  on 
the  strength  of  one  or  two  clever  bits  that  has  lifted  the  script 
above  the  commonplace. 

Do  not  trust  to  the  climax  alone  to  carry  your  story.  Gradu- 
ate the  intensity  of  the  action  with  succeeding  scenes  so  that 


84  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

you  work  up  to  your  climax.  Do  not  loaf  along  until  just  be- 
fore the  end  and  then  spring  a  climax  that  is  all  out  of  propor- 
tion to  what  has  gone  before.  It  is  easier  to  ascend  an  inclined 
plane  than  to  climb  a  high  fence  and  the  climax  presented  sud- 
denly after  weak  action  is  like  the  fence.  The  audience  is  not 
prepared  for  it.  Lift  your  audience  up  gradually. 

Plan  your  climax  as  late  as  possible.  In  the  earlier  scenes 
you  can  arrange  a  series  of  minor  climaxes,  or  crises,  each  a 
little  stronger  than  the  other,  but  none  approaching  the  real 
climax,  but  you  cannot  put  your  climax  in  the  middle  of  your 
play  and  hold  the  interest  through  the  falling  action  that  follows. 
Your  climax  is  the  biggest  moment  in  your  play.  All  that 
comes  after  that  is  in  a  descending  scale.  In  that  little  book 
agent  story  we  wrote,  the  climax  comes  when  Smith  and  his 
friends  bought  the  books.  Then  Tim  says  "Thank  you.  Good 
night"  and  the  play  is  done.  That's  where  the  climax  belongs. 
In  the  story  of  the  man  who  could  save  but  one  of  the  two 
women,  your  climax  would  come  at  the  choice — about  two-thirds 
of  the  way  through  unless  you  were  careful,  and  so  good  work- 
manship should  favor  that  development  in  which  the  woman 
the  man  loves  tells  him  to  save  his  wife  and  turns  with  a  smile 
to  face  her  own  fate.  If  the  story  stopped  right  there,  the 
climax  would  come  at  the  end  of  the  play,  but  if  you  used 
any  of  the  other  suggested  developments  your  story  would  keep 
on  for  several  scenes.  Suppose  that  we  took  the  development 
where,  after  all,  the  woman  was  saved  and  the  wife  died.  That 
would  give  us  the  happy  ending,  but  it  would  be  an  anti-climax, 
since  it  could  not  possibly  be  as  strong  a  situation  as  the  re- 
nunciation. The  anti-climax  is  like  eating  a  piece  of  bread  and 
butter  after  you  have  had  your  rich  pastry  and  dessert.  The 
bread  and  butter  is  all  right  in  its  place,  but  the  plum  pudding 
and  ice  cream  are  the  climax  of  the  meal. 

Do  not  plan  for  the  comedy  relief  that  in  the  drama  is  used  to 
lighten  the  action.  Two  hours  and  a  half  of  straight  drama  is 
rather  too  much  without  some  distraction  and  so  the  comedy 
relief  was  introduced,  but  in  photoplay  the  story  runs  but  twenty 
minutes  or  less  to  the  reel  and  there  is  no  time  to  cumber  the 
action  with  matter  that  does  not  directly  advance  the  main 
action.  More  than  this,  the  introduction  of  a  comedy  relief  will 
be  apt  to  detract  from  the  dramatic  effect.  Even  some  uncon- 
sidered  action  may  bring  a  laugh  that  will  be  fatal  to  the  sus- 
pense. In  photoplay  it  is  not  possible  to  make  the  audience  alter- 
nately laugh  and  cry.  It  may  be  comedy  or  drama,  but  not 
both;  the  form  is  too  simple  to  admit  of  complex  treatment. 


PUTTING  IN  THE  PUNCH  85 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


PUTTING   IN    THE   PUNCH 


What  the  punch  is — the  three  sorts  of  dramatic  punch — 
raising  the  commonplace  to  the  dramatic — relation  of 
punch  to  plot — the  comedy  punch. 


It  may  be  that  someone  will  presently  find  a  more  expressive 
term  than  "punch"  for  that  quality  of  the  story  that  lifts  it  from 
the  commonplace,  but  it  is  to  be  questioned.  The  word  is  simple, 
terse  and  highly  descriptive.  It  is  almost  self-explanatory  to  the 
trained  "writer,  and  yet  the  question  most  frequently  asked  by  the 
beginner  is  "What  is  the  punch  ?" 

Punch  possesses  a  variety  of  synonyms.  It  is  heart  interest, 
grip,  suspense  and  a  dozen  other  things  rolled  into  one.  Like  the 
small  boy's  definition  of  salt,  it  is  what  makes  the  story  bad  when 
it  is  left  out.  The  story  without  the  punch  is  like  a  motor  boat 
without  the  motor,  the  gun  without  powder  or  shot.  It  looks  all 
right  at  first  glance  but  the  kick  is  lacking. 

Punch  is  that  element  of  the  story  which  gives  it  interest.  It 
is  dramatic  situation,  but  it  is  more  than  that  and  it  is  because  the 
word  means  so  much  that  it  is  not  easy  to  define. 

If  a  man  on  the  street  should  walk  up  to  another  and  knock  him 
down,  the  situation  would  not  be  without  interest.  If  the  person 
assaulted  was  the  President  of  the  United  States  and  the  man 
striking  the  blow  the  defeated  candidate  at  the  last  election,  the 
interest  would  be  very  greatly  increased.  The  first  assault  might 
occupy  two  or  three  lines  in  the  police  court  news  of  the  local  pa- 
pers, but  the  fact  that  it  was  the  President  and  his  late  rival  who 
engaged  in  the  row,  would  put  the  punch  into  the  story  and  the 
facts  would  be  telegraphed  and  cabled  around  the  world.  The 
American  papers  would  give  columns  to  the  story,  the  San  Fran- 
cisco papers  as  well  as  those  of  New  York  and  Boston,  but  the 
fact  that  Henry  Hastings  had  had  a  fight  with  Samuel  Belting 
would  not  attract  much  attention  beyond  their  immediate  circles 
of  friends. 


86  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Every  day  people  die  or  get  married.  In  most  cases  it  costs  so 
much  a  line  to  announce  the  fact  in  the  papers,  but  if  the  daughter 
of  millions  marries  the  title  of  centuries,  pages  are  given  to  the 
affair  in  its  every  aspect  from  the  family  history  of  the  long  line 
of  dukes  to  the  sort  of  embroidery  on  the  bride's  corset  covers. 
The  punch  has  been  put  into  the  commonplace.  The  status  of  the 
contracting  parties  has  raised  the  story  to  the  point  of  general 
interest. 

In  one  sense,  then,  the  punch  is  that  feature  of  a  story  which 
raises  the  story  above  the  commonplace. 

A  tramp  dies  in  the  workhouse.  The  story  is  recorded  only  in 
the  records  of  the  Bureau  of  Vital  Statistics. 

Perhaps  he  dies  in  a  vacant  lot.  The  newspapers  record  that 
"The  body  of  an  unknown  man,  believed  to  have  been  a  tramp, 
was  found  this  morning  in  the  vacant  lot  at  the  corner  of  Broad 
and  Beech  streets."  The  item  is  of  more  importance  because  one 
expects  tramps  to  die  in  the  workhouse,  but  few  die  in  vacant  lots. 

But  perhaps  the  tramp  met  death  while  making  a  gallant  rescue 
at  a  fire.  The  story  of  the  tramp's  heroism  becomes  more  im- 
portant than  the  story  of  the  fire,  because  his  death  is  dramatic 
and  the  fire  is  not. 

Suppose  that  instead  of  that  the  tramp's  body  was  found  in  the 
cellar  of  a  grocery  story.  In  the  other  end  of  the  cellar  was 
stored  the  surplus  stock  but  the  tramp  was  too  weak  from  illness 
to  break  open  a  box  of  crackers  or  reach  the  bottles  of  wine  close 
to  hand.  He  had  died  of  hunger  and  thirst  in  the  sight  of  food 
and  drink.  That  is  dramatic. 

Take  once  more  the  cellar  and  the  tramp.  He  has  taken  a  little 
child  under  his  protection  and,  too  weak  to  go  out  and  beg  food, 
has  died  of  starvation  that  the  little  child  might  live  until  help 
came. 

The  tramp  dead  in  the  workhouse  is  commonplace.  The  tramp 
dead  in  a  vacant  lot  is  unusual,  the  tramp  saving  the  life  of  an- 
other at  the  cost  of  his  own  is  heroic,  the  tramp  dying  of  starva- 
tion in  the  sight  of  food  is  dramatic,  the  tramp  dying  that  a  little 
life  might  be  spared  is  pathetic.  In  each  story  there  is  an  in- 
creasing punch. 

A  man  running  for  a  train  and  losing  it  is  generally  regarded 
as  something  humorous  by  all  save  the  man  who  misses  the  train. 
If  losing  the  train  means  a  sacrifice  of  a  human  life,  the  comedy 
is  turned  into  the  dramatic.  If  we  know  nothing  of  the  fact  that 
a  life  is  dependent  upon  the  catching  of  the  train,  the  incident  re- 
mains humorous  to  us.  If  we  know,  the  situation  is  tragic.  The 
presentation  of  this  dramatic  side  in  a  forceful  and  striking  man- 
ner puts  in  the  punch. 


PUTTING  IN  THE  PUNCH  87 

The  punch  should  suggest  itself  to  the  author  simultaneously 
with  the  plot  itself,  because  the  plot  is  not  good  unless  it  has  the 
punch..  But  lacking  the  punch  we  can  add  it  afterward  or  having 
too  weak  a  punch,  we  can  intensify  it  through  development. 

Let  us  take  the  triangle  again.  Two  men  love  the  same  girl 
and  their  efforts  to  win  her  forms  the  story.  In  the  simplest  form 
Frank  Jones  and  Paul  Smith  love  Mary  Brown  and  are  rivals  for 
her  hand.  Frank  finds  the  greater  favor  and  wins  her  hand  in 
marriage.  There  is  a  story  there,  but  it  lacks  the  punch  because  it 
tells  only  the  commonplace  and  usual.  It  almost  wholly  lacks 
dramatic  situation.  But  the  punch  can  be  added  after  the  story 
has  been  devised  and  the  punch  can  be  built  up  to  almost  any  de- 
gree required. 

Suppose  that  Frank  and  Paul  are  brothers.  This  at  once  brings 
a  dramatic  element  into  the  story.  Frank  is  staid  and  steady  go- 
ing; Paul  is  wayward  and  inclined  to  dissipation,  but  like  most 
black  sheep,  is  his  mother's  idol.  Paul  declares  that  unless  he  can 
marry  Mary  he  will  go  straight  to  the  devil.  Frank  does  not  par- 
ticularly care  for  that,  for  his  brother  has  long  since  tested  for- 
bearance to  the  breaking  point,  but  their  mother  is  an  invalid 
and  Frank  knows  that  Paul's  lapse  will  break  her  heart.  He  gives 
up  his  suit  and  leaves  the  field  clear  to  Paul.  The  story  now  has 
a  punch,  because  it  has  become  dramatic  through  the  element  of 
Frank's  renunciation,  but  the  story  is  by  no  means  as  strong  as  it 
may  be  made. 

Disregard  the  relationship  and  once  more  they  are  Jones  and 
Smith.  This  time  it  is  Frank  who  is  reckless  and  Paul,  who  is 
the  steady  one.  Frank  sees  that  Paul  has  the  inside  track  and 
plans  to  trick  him.  He  knows  that  Paul's  father  is  short  in  his 
cash  at  the  bank  in  which  all  three  are  employed.  It  is  but  a 
temporary  shortage,  a  matter  that  amounts  to  little  more  than  an 
unauthorized  loan,  but  it  is  technically  a  criminal  act  and  ex- 
posure would  mean  the  old  man's  ruin  and  disgrace  and  that,  in 
its  turn  would  probably  lead  to  his  death. 

Frank  tells  Paul  of  his  father's  situation  and  warns  him  that 
unless  he  abandons  all  claims  to  Mary's  hand  he  will  inform  the 
bank  directors  of  the  facts.  To  save  his  father,  Paul  assents. 
The  old  man,  knowing  nothing  of  the  situation,  adds  to  Paul's 
anguish  by  urging  him  to  press  his  suit  more  ardently. 

Here  we  have  a  more  dramatic  situation.  The  first  plot  offers 
but  one  premise,  that 

(a)   Frank  and  Paul  desire  to  marry  Mary. 

The  last  development  offers  these  facts : 


88  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 


tions. 


(a)  Frank  and  Paul  desire  to  marry  Mary. 

(b)  Frank  has  knowledge   of  Paul's  father's  indiscretio—. 

(c)  He  uses  this  knowledge  to  dispose  of  his  rival. 

(d)  Paul's  father,  not  knowing  this,  upbraids  him  for  a  laggard  in  love. 

That  is  doing  much  better,  but  we  have  only  started  on  our 
search  for  the  punch.  Paul  knows  of  some  grave  reason  why 
Frank  should  not  marry  Mary,  yet  he  dares  not  use  his  knowledge 
to  warn  the  woman  he  loves.  To  tell  that  Frank  is  addicted  to  the 
morphine  habit  will  be  to  bring  ruin  and  death  to  his  father.  Not 
to  tell  will  bring  lifelong  misery  to  the  girl. 

Now  let  the  old  man  know  these  facts  about  Frank  as  well  as 
Paul  and  let  him  be  eager  to  warn  Mary  himself  since  it  seems 
that  Paul  will  not.  Paul  knows  that  to  tell  him  of  his  own  knowl- 
edge of  the  affairs  at  the  bank  and  of  Frank's  possession  of  the 
facts  will  be  almost  as  bad  as  a  general  exposure.  He  seeks  to 
prevent  his  father  from  telling  Mary  without  giving  his  reasons 
why. 

That  is  better,  but  there  is  more  yet.  The  father  determines  to 
take  the  situation  into  his  own  hands.  He  starts  for  Mary's 
house.  On  the  way  he  meets  Frank.  Frank  guesses  his  errand 
and  warns  him  that  if  he  tells  Mary  he  will  do  so  at  the  cost  of 
his  own  exposure. 

The  old  man  is  badly  shaken,  but  he  argues  that  the  happiness 
of  Paul  and  Mary  is  of  greater  importance  than  his  own  short- 
lived happiness.  No  longer  with  hot  eagerness,  but  with  slow 
determined  steps,  the  old  man  continues  on  his  way  while  Frank 
goes  in  search  of  the  President  of  the  bank. 

The  duty  done,  the  old  man  goes  home  and  prepares  for  the 
suicide  that  will  take  him  beyond  the  reach  of  human  justic.  He 
is  writing  a  farewell  note  to  Paul  when  the  latter  bursts  into  the 
room  with  the  news  that  Frank  was  struck  by  an  engine  while 
crossing  the  railroad  tracks.  Here  the  story  might  stop,  but  there 
is  one  more  possible  development.  Paul  sees  the  letter  of  farewell 
and  realizes  the  situation  and  the  sacrifice  that  his  father  has  made 
for  him.  The  slight  anger  of  the  past  few  weeks  vanishes.  More 
than  ever  they  are  father  and  son. 

Now  from  the  simple  start  that  two  men  want  to  marry  the 
same  girl,  we  have  evolved  these  complications  of  the  punch. 

(a)  Frank  and  Paul  desire  to  marry  Mary. 

(b)  Frank  discovers  the   peculations. 

(c)  Frank  threatens  Paul  with  the  exposure  of  the  father. 

(d)  Paul   renounces  Mary  for  his  father's  sake. 

(e)  The   father  quarrels  with   Paul   over  his   failure  to  urge   his  suit. 

(f)  Paul  knows  Frank  to  be  a  drug  fiend  but  dares  not  tell. 

(g)  The  father  discovers  Frank's  habit  and  urges  Paul  to  tell, 
(h)  He  decides  to  warn  the  girl  himself  since  Paul  will  not. 

(i)   Frank   discovers  his  purpose   and  threatens  him   with  exposure. 

(j)  For   the  sake  of   Paul   and   Mary,   the   old   man   persists   in   telling. 


PUTTING  IN  THE  PUNCH  89 

(k)  His  preparations  for  the  suicide. 
(1)  The   announcement   of   Frank's    death. 
(m)  The  discovery  by  Paul  of  the  letter  and  the  reconciliation. 

There  is  hardly  a  commonplace  of  life  that  cannot  be  raised  in 
similar  fashion  to  the  story  with  the  punch,  but  care  must  be  used 
to  provide  natural  and  logical  explanations  of  all  incidents.  The 
author  cannot  arbitrarily  adopt  a  situation  that  does  not  belong  to 
the  story.  It  is  not  possible  to  drag  in  sensation  to  bolster  up  a 
weak  plot.  The  strength  must  be  the  strength  of  the  plot,  not 
the  strength  of  foreign  matter  interpolated  into  the  story. 

It  should  also  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  punch  does  not  neces- 
sarily mean  violence.  To  the  contrary  it  is  seldom  that  the  punch 
is  attained  though  the  introduction  of  violence  and  crime. 
Through  its  very  nature  the  punch  should  be  an  appeal  to  the  dra- 
matic and  not  to  the  melodramatic. 

Punch  is  a  matter  of  mind  rather  than  spectacle.  If  the  crazed 
foreman  ties  the  girl  to  a  log  and  starts  the  gang  saws  because 
she  will  not  marry  him,  we  have  put  sensation,  not  punch  into  the 
story.  If  two  men  fight  over  a  girl,  there  is  no  added  punch  to  the 
story.  We  have  increased  the  sensation,  and  sensation  may  enable 
the  story  to  gain  attention,  but  it  will  not  have  the  grip  that  the 
story  with  the  punch  possesses,  because  the  appeal  is  made  to  the 
eye  and  not  the  brain.  The  sight  of  two  men  fighting  is  stirring, 
but  the  thought  behind  the  fight  is  what  carries  the  punch  if 
there  is  one.  Punch  and  violence  are  not  synonymous  but  wholly 
the  reverse  of  each  other. 

The  sight  of  the  girl  tied  to  a  saw  log  with  the  saws  running  is 
thrilling,  but  the  situation  lacks  the  intensity  that  would  be 
possessed  by  the  situation  if  we  knew  that  the  foreman  sat  inside 
the  mill  with  a  gun  on  his  lap  ready  to  kill  the  girl  the  moment 
she  appeared  with  her  father's  dinner  and  the  punch  was  worked 
through  the  suspense  of  wondering  whether  the  father,  coming 
down  another  path,  would  meet  the  girl  before  she  enters  the  mill. 

The  punch  is  mental ;  violence  is  physical. 

In  the  comedy  story  the  punch  is  brought  about  through  the 
force  with  which  the  comedy  idea  is  built  up  and  driven  home. 

A  good  example  of  the  double  comedy  punch  is  found  in 
Auntie's  Affinity.  Auntie  falls  in  love  with  a  distinguished 
stranger  whom  we  know  to  be  the  chef  in  the  hotel  in  which  she 
lives.  The  punch  is  found  in  the  thought  that  the  old  lady  does 
not  know  that  he  is  a  chef,  because  he  has  told  her  that  he  is  a 
nobleman.  We  wonder  what  she  will  say  when  she  finds  out  just 
what  he  is.  She  finds  out  and  collapses.  That  is  the  punch. 
Then  it  turns  out  that  the  Chef  really  is  a  nobleman  and  a 
wealthy  one  at  that  but  he  has  not  yet  come  into  the  posses- 


90  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

sion  of  the  fortune  to  which  he  has  fallen  heir,  and  so  it  happens 
that  he  still  works  as  a  chef  until  the  money  comes.  That  is  the 
second  punch.  There  are  two  distinct  comedy  ideas  in  the  one  story. 

Comedy  should  stand  in  less  need  of  a  pronounced  punch  since 
it  is  not  dependent  so  much  upon  the  idea  for  its  interest  save  in 
the  higher  forms  of  story.  In  the  dramatic  story  the  punch  is 
essential  for  much  of  the  action  is  lacking  in  particular  interest. 
In  the  comedy  of  the  more  farcical  sorts  the  action  itself  is  amus- 
ing .and  while  the  lack  of  idea  cannot  be  excused,  there  is  less 
need  of  a  pronounced  plot  since  the  action  amuses  as  it  leads  to 
the  climax. 

Let's  write  a  new  definition  of  punch  that  applies  to  comedy  and 
drama  alike. 

Punch  is  the  idea  that  lies  back  of  the  action  and  grips  and 
holds  the  attention,  raising  the  action  out  of  the  commonplace 
into  the  unusual. 

That's  the  punch. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    CUT-BACK 

Value  of  the  cut-back — used  to  stop  gaps  and  cover  breaks — 
used  to  maintain  suspense — how  to  handle — the  dramatic 
cut-back — the  comedy  cut-back. 

What  the  punch  is  to  the  mental  side  of  the  story  the  cut-back 
is  to  the  physical  or  visual  side.  One  gives  intensity  to  the  plot, 
the  other  heightens  the  suspense  by  intensifying  the  action. 

Originally  the  cut-back  was  used  to  close  up  a  gap  in  the  action, 
to  obviate  the  actual  showing  of  a  crime  or  to  bridge  a  stoppage 
in  the  action,  but  while  it  is  still  much  used  in  these  connections, 
its  greatest  value  lies  in  the  fact  that  through  its  use  the  element 
of  suspense  may  be  very  greatly  heightened. 

Used  in  the  first  manner  the  cut-back  prevents  what  might 
otherwise  be  awkward  situations.  We  have  the  heroine  come  to 
her  rooms  to  change  her  dress.  Nothing  can  develop  until  the 
change  is  made,  but  it  is  manifestly  impossible  to  hold  the  action 
in  her  room  until  the  change  is  made.  To  show  her  starting  to 
make  the  change  and  then  show  her  changed  will  give  two  scenes 
in  succession  in  the  same  setting.  These  might  be  broken  with  a 
leader,  but  a  cut-back  would  be  better.  We  will  suppose  that 
Norma  has  had  a  quarrel  with  her  father  and  rushes  off  to  change 
her  dress  before  she  leaves  home  forever.  We  might  handle  it 
this  way: 


THE  CUT-BACK  91 

7-  Norma's  room-  Norma  enters,   crying-  starts  to  remove* her 
dress. 

Leader-  Norma  is  ready  to  leave  her  father's  home. 

8-  Back  to  No.   7-  Norma  is  now  dressed  for  street-  she  takes 
one  last  look  about  the  room-  exits. 

It  requires  no  great  experience  to  realize  that  this  is  rather  awk- 
ward. Here  we  have  a  scene  following  one  of  great  strength;  the 
quarrel  with  her  father.  She  rushes  off  to  her  room  to  change 
her  things  and  we  are  all  wrought  up  over  the  matter.  Then 
flashes  an  unimportant  leader  and  the  effect  is  much  as  though 
our  spirits  were  dashed  with  cold  water.  The  value  of  the  situa- 
tion has  been  lost  through  the  leader.  Compare  the  above  with 
this  development: 

7-  Norma's  room-  Norma  enters,   crying-  starts  to  undress. 

8-  Back  to  No.   6-  Flash  of  mother  arguing  unsuccessfully  with 
father. 

9-  Back  to  No.   7-  Norma  dressed  for  street-  takes  last  look 
at  room-  exits. 

The  flash  of  the  room  in  which  the  quarrel  occurred  takes  no 
more  time  than  the  leader  would  require,  but  now,  instead  of  los- 
ing interest,  the  situation  is  the  stronger  because  of  that  fleeting 
glimpse  of  the  parents.  It  holds  up  the  story  and  may  even  raise 
it  a  trifle  instead  of  letting  the  action  drop. 

The  same  device  may  be  used  to  get  rid  of  a  dinner  scene.  We 
cannot  hold  the  action  through  the  meal  and  the  ten  second  din- 
ner is  unconvincing.  We  cut-back  to  some  other  action  and  when 
we  get  back  to  the  dining  room  the  meal  is  over. 

In  the  same  way  holes  may  be  dug,  tents  erected  or  anything 
done  that  would  require  more  time  than  the  film  will  permit. 

To  conceal  crime,  or  rather  to  avoid  showing  the  actual  per- 
formance of  a  criminal  act,  the  cut-back  is  invaluable.  If  it  is  a 
fight  we  may  see  the  police  hurrying  to  the  rescue,  if  a  murder 
the  assassin  draws  his  revolver.  We  see  the  wife  of  the  murdered 
man  peacefully  engaged  in  household  duties.  We  come  back  to 
the  other  scene  and  the  man  is  dead.  The  deed  has  been  com- 
mitted. We  have  the  full  effect  without  having  shown  the  actual 
commission  of  the  crime. 

In  the  same  way  there  may  be  shown  the  burglar  breaking  into 
the  house  and  the  family  roused  by  the  noise  and  telephoning  for 


92  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

the  police,  the  mother  on  her  death  bed  while  the  son  gambles  and 
drinks  in  some  bar-room,  in  short  any  parallel  action  in  which  one 
scene  gains  added  strength  through  contrast  with  the  other. 

But  it  is  as  a  means  of  creating  suspense  that  the  cut-back  has 
been  found  to  possess  the  greatest  value.  The  suspense  cut-back 
at  once  quickens  the  action  and  delays  the  climax.  One  example 
of  the  cut-back  has  been  given  in  Chapter  Six,  but  it  is  capable  of 
being  handled  in  many  ways. 

One  familiar  form  is  the  drug  clerk  that  dispenses  poison  in 
mistake  for  some  harmless  remedy.  In  straight  action  we  would 
see  the  clerk  discover  his  mistake  and  rush  out,  we  see  the  mes- 
senger walking  along  the  street.  The  clerk  catches  up  with  him 
and  takes  away  the  bottle.  In  three  not  particularly  effective 
scenes  the  entire  action  has  been  played. 

Cutting  back  we  see  the  messenger  and  the  clerk  in  alternate 
flashes.  Now  the  boy  is  delayed  and  we  think  the  clerk  will  catch 
him,  now  the  delay  falls  to  the  clerk  and  the  boy  steals  a  ride  on  a 
truck,  gaining  a  greater  lead.  The  clerk  appeals  to  an  automo- 
bilist,  but  in  the  next  scene  our  hopes  are  dashed  because  we 
see  the  boy  on  the  steps  delivering  the  medicine.  All  of  this  time 
we  have  flashed  between  the  boy  and  the  clerk  with  perhaps  a 
glimpse  or  two  into  the  sick  room.  Now  we  alternate  between  the 
sick  room  and  the  clerk  because  the  boy  has  become  unimportant. 
The  medicine  is  about  to  be  administered  when  the  clerk  rushes 
in,  just  in  the  nick  of  time.  Instead  of  three  scenes  perhaps 
twenty  have  been  played  and  in  all  that  time  our  nerves  have  been 
kept  a-tingle. 

The  number  of  flashes  to  be  used  cannot  be  definitely  stated 
since  it  varies  with  the  story,  but  it  is  well  not  to  give  too  many. 
Some  directors  will  cut-back  six  times  and  others  may  take  ten. 
It  is  better  to  write  in  the  six  and  leave  it  to  the  director  to  add 
more  if  he  desires  them. 

In  figuring  the  cut-backs  it  should  be  remembered  that  it  is  not 
the  number  of  scenes  but  their  length  which  determines  the  full 
length  of  the  reel.  Ten  five-second  flashes  take  no  more  film  than 
one  fifty-second  scene.  Do  not  be  frightened  at  the  way  the  scene 
numbers  pile  up.  Figure  the  length  and  be  reassured. 

Let  us  take  one  more  dramatic  example.  Judson  is  the  object 
of  the  insane  hatred  of  Smith,  a  lunatic.  Judson  lives  alone  in  a 
house  far  from  the  habitations  of  others.  He  is  sick  and  without 
attendance,  utterly  helpless.  Smith  escapes  from  his  keepers  and 
heads  straight  for  Judson's  home.  The  keepers,  knowing  what  is 
likely  to  happen,  start  in  pursuit.  At  first  the  pursuit  lies  between 
Smith  and  the  keepers.  Once  or  twice  there  comes  a  flash  of  Jud  • 


THE  CUT-BACK  93 

son,  to  remind  the  spectator  of  the  object  of  the  chase,  but  the  reaJ 
interest  lies  between  Smith  and  his  keepers.  Then  Smith  comes 
to  the  house.  Fear  lends  strength  to  Judson.  He  hurls  a  bottle 
at  Smith,  stunning  him.  He  then  escapes  into  the  woods,  Smith 
rouses  and  pursues  him.  Now  the  interest  lies  between  Judson, 
struggling  through  the  brush  and  Smith,  hot  in  pursuit,  with  now 
and  then  a  flash  of  the  keepers.  It  would  be  written  something 
like  this: 

16-  Asylum  grounds-  Smith  and  keeper  enter  scene-  Smith 
watches  his  chance-  fells  keeper-  exits. 

17-  Base  of  wall-  Smith  drops  into  scene  from  above-  picks 
himself  up-  exits. 

18-  Road-  Smith  runs  through. 

19-  Back  to  No.  16-  Keeper  revives-  gives  alarm-  other  keepers 
enter-  all  exit. 

20-  Woods-  Smith  runs  through. 

21-  Same  as  No.  18-  Keepers  run  through. 

22-  Judson's  room,  as  in  No.  11-  Judson  in  bed  helpless. 

23-  Woods-  Smith  runs  through. 

24-  Woods-  Keepers  run  through-  one  falls-  badly  hurt-  others 
gather  about  him-  he  urges  them  to  hurry  on-  they  exit. 

25-  Woods-  Smith  runs  into  scene-  stops  to  tie  shoes-  on 
again. 

26-  Woods-  Keepers  run  through. 

27-  Exterior  of  Judson's,  as  in  No.  9-  Smith  enters  scene- 
enters  house. 

28-  Woods-  Keepers  run  through. 

29-  Judson's  room,   as  in  No.   11-  Smith  enters-  approaches  bed- 
Judson  terror  stricken-  Smith  turns  to  table-  picks  up 
revolver-   Judson   collects  strength-  rises-  takes  large 
bottle-  throws. 

30-  Woods-  Keepers  run  through. 

31-  Back  to -No.  29-  Smith  face  down  on  table-  Judson  rises- 
staggers  out. 

32-  Exterior  of  Judson's,  as  in  No.  9-  Judson  staggers  out  of 
house-  looks  wildly  about-  staggers  off. 


94  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

33-  Back  to  No.  29-  Smith  rouses-  looks  about  him-  looks  at 
broken  bottle  and  at  empty  bed-  can  guess-  wild  with  rage- 
rushes  out. 

34-  Woods-  Judson  enters  scene-  staggers  on. 

35-  Front  of  Judson's,  as  in  No.  9-  Smith  rushes  out-  picks  up 
trail-  follows. 

36-  Woods-  Keepers  run  through. 

37-  Tangle  of  underbrush-  Judson  hides. 

38-  Woods-  Smith  following  Judson's  trail. 

39-  Back  to  No.  37-  Smith  enters  scene-  looks  about  him. 

40-  Judson's,  as  in  No.  9-  Keepers  enter-  rush  into  house. 

41-  Back  to  No.  39-  Smith  looks  about  him-  passes  out  of 
scene. 

42-  Judson's  room,  as  in  No.  11-  Keepers  enter-  look  about 
them-  exit. 

43-  Woods-  Smith  enters-  can  find  no  tracks-  turns  back. 

44-  Front  of  Judson's,  as  in  No.  9-  Keepers  rush  out-  take  up 
new  trail. 

45-  Same  as  No.  41-  Smith  enters-  looks  about  him-  picks  up 
trail-  starts  for  brush. 

45-  Close-up  of  Judson  cowering  in  brush. 

46-  Back  to  No.  44-  Smith  still  approaching  brush. 

47-  Woods-  Keepers  run  through. 

48-  Back  to  No.  46-  Smith  aiming  at  brush  with  revolver. 

49-  Close-up-  Judson  waiting  for  shot. 

50-  Back  to  No.  48-  Keepers  rush  in-  seize  and  disarm  Smith- 
Judson  helped  from  brush-  faints-  carried  out  of  scene- 
other  keepers  exit  with  Smith. 

Study  this  development  closely  and  you  will  note  how  the  in- 
terest is  held  up. 

Smith  passes  Judson's  hiding  place  and  you  think  that  Judson 
is  safe,  but  he  turns  and  comes  back  again.  Even  with  the  revol- 
ver in  his  hand  Smith  does  not  tire.  We  have  the  close  up  of 
Judson  to  hold  back  the  denouement  a  few  seconds  longer.  In- 
stead of  three  or  four  scenes  we  have  thirty-five,  but  those  thirty- 


THE  CUT-BACK  95 

five  will  take  but  little  more  film  than  five  regular  scenes  al- 
though it  seems  much  longer  because  we  have  given  the  sugges- 
tion of  so  much  happening. 

Because  the  cut-back  is  valuable  do  not  employ  it  in  every 
drama  you  write.  Many  dramas  are  far  better  if  played  in  fifteen 
scenes  than  in  fifty.  Use  the  cut-back  only  when  there  is  need  of 
it.  Use  it,  do  not  abuse  it. 

In  comedy  the  cut-back  delays  anticipation,  but  its  greater  ser- 
vice is  in  quickening  the  action,  since  here  the  element  of  suspense 
is  not  so  greatly  needed.  Even  when  the  cut-back  is  employed  the 
handling  is  slightly  different. 

If  Jones,  a  gay  old  boy,  engages  in  a  flirtation  with  some  charm- 
ing young  woman  and  winds  up  by  inviting  her  to  lunch,  the  meal 
will  be  long  drawn  out  and  not  very  funny.  If  we  cut  back  to 
Jones'  wife  in  pursuit  of  her  husband,  we  can  save  the  bits  of 
humor  that  the  table  scenes  will  bring  and  get  other  laughs  from 
Mrs.  Jones.  Suppose  that  we  try  it  something  like  this  in  the  old 
way: 

5-  Exterior  restaurant-  May  and  Jones  enter  scene-  enter 
restaurant. 

6-  Interior  of  restaurant-  Jones  and  May  enter-  they  are 
shown  to  table-  waiter  takes  order. 

7-  Front  of  Jones'  house,  as  in  No.  3-  Mrs.  Jones  enters  from 
house-  exits  up  street. 

8-  Restaurant,   as  in  No.   5-  Mrs.  Jones  enters  scene-  enters 
restaurant. 

9-  Interior,  as  in  No.   6-  Mrs.  Jones  enters-  chases  May  out 
with  umbrella-  Jones  dives  under  the  table-  she  prods  him 
out-  drives  him  from  restaurant. 

That  would  be  the  old  way  of  handling  the  situation.  We  get 
a  mild  laugh  when  Mrs.  Jones  starts  out  because  we  can  guess 
what  is  coming.  There  is  a  better  laugh  in  scene  nine  where  we 
see  it  happen.  That  is  about  all  we  can  get.  Now  compare  this 
with  what  follows: 

5-  Exterior  of  restaurant-  Jones  and  May  enter  scene-  enter 
restaurant. 

6-  Restaurant   interior-  Jones   and  May  enter-  they  are  shown 
to  table-  waiter  takes  order. 

7-  Jones'   house,   as  in  No.  3-  Mrs.  Jones  enters  from  house- 
exits  up  street. 


96  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

8-  Back  to  No.  6-  May  still  ordering-  Jones  begins  to  look 
worried-  waiter  writing  as  fast  as  he  can  to  keep  up  with 
order. 

9-  Street-  Mrs.  Jones  enters-  meets  Mrs.  Smith-  Mrs.  Smith 
tells  her  of  having  seen  Jones  with  girl-  Mrs.  Jones  hur- 
ries out. 

10-  Back  to  No.  8-  Dishes  all  over  table-  May  laughing  and 
talking-  emphasizes  her  points  by  pounding  Jones  on  his 
bald  spot  with  a  turkey  bone-  Jones  gets  sentimental- 
tries  to  take  her  hand-  she  gives  him  the  bone  instead-  he 
is  disgusted. 

11-  Street-  Mrs.  Jones  walks  through  rapidly-  fight  in  her 
eyes. 

12-  Back  to  No.  10-  Jones  wants  to  kiss  May. 

13-  Restaurant  exterior,  as  in  No.  5-  Mrs.  Jones  enters  scene-, 
looks  into  window-  starts. 

14-  Back  to  No.  12-  Jones  still  trying  to  kiss  May-  she  slips 
a  piece  of  ice  down  his  back. 

15-  Back  to  No.  13-  Mrs.  Jones  leaves  window-  enters  restau- 
rant. 

16-  Back  to  No.  14-  Mrs.  Jones  enters-  they  see  her-  May  runs  - 
out-  Jones  dives  under  table. 

17-  Restaurant  exterior,  as  in  No.  5-  May  runs  out-  looks  into 
window-  "Poor  Jones." 

18-  Back  to  No.  16-  Mrs.  Jones  prods  Jones  out  from  under 
table  with  umbrella-  starts  to  beat  him. 

19-  Back  to  No.  17-  May  turns  from  window-  exits  laughing. 

20-  Back  to  No.  18-  Other  waiters  help  Jones'  waiter  to  eject 
the  pair. 

21-  Exterior  of  restaurant,  as  in  No.  5-  Jones  and  Mrs.  Jones 
put  out-  they  stand  a  moment-  Jones'  waiter  comes  with 
bill-  Mrs.  Jones  threatens  him  with  umbrella-  he  rushes 
into  restaurant-  Mrs.  Jones  lugs  Jones  off  by  collar. 


What  follows  may  be  told  in  straight  action,  but  by  cutting  back 
we  get  sixteen  lively  scenes  instead  of  two  long  and  three  short 
ones  without  using  much  more  film.  All  through  this  action  there 
runs  the  suggestion  that  Nemesis  is  on  Jones'  trail  in  the  shape  of 
his  wife  and  when  expectation  has  been  brought  to  the  highest 


VALUES  AND  EMPHASIS  97 

point  consistent  with  safety,  the  expected  happens.  A  couple  more 
scenes  might  have  tired  and  let  the  entire  run  of  action  fall  flat. 

It  will  be  noted  that  in  both  of  these  examples  the  scene  mark- 
ings vary.  This  is  purposely  done  to  show  that  it  is  sufficient  that 
the  scenes  are  marked  so  as  to  be  clearly  understood  by  the  di- 
rector. In  general,  the  restaurant  scenes  are  all  "back  to"  because 
the  action  is  more  or  less  continuous,  while  the  exteriors  are 
mostly  "same  as"  because  the  stage  is  cleared,  but  a  slight  varia- 
tion in  the  marking  will  not  matter  so  that  you  make  it  clear. 

It  is  needful  to  write  carefully  and  with  exactness,  but  if  we 
say  "Front  of  Judson's"  in  one  scene  and  "Judson's  house"  in  an- 
other, the  director  can  tell  what  we  mean  and  he  will  not  refuse 
to  purchase  the  script  merely  because  we  did  not  say  "Front  of 
Judson's"  both  times. 

In  using  the  comedy  cut  back  be  careful  not  to  overdo.  It  will 
not  stand  as  much  as  a  drama  and  if  the  cut-back  is  developed  to 
too  great  a  length  the  play  will  be  spoiled.  In  comedy  it  is  neces- 
sary to  get  more  movement  to  the  action,  not  in  the  speed  of  the 
players,  but  in  the  movement  from  place  to  place.  These  scenes 
are  practically  the  restaurant  scene  with  cut  backs  to  the  street. 
We  cannot  stay  long  in  the  restaurant.  We  must  move  on  to 
other  places  to  gain  variety. 

It  is  well  for  the  beginner  to  practice  writing  cut-backs  without 
reference  to  the  rest  of  the  story.  Keep  working  on  cut-back  inci- 
dents until  you  have  learned  the  best  modes  of  development,  for 
the  cut-back  badly  done  is  worse  than  straight  action. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

VALUES    AND    EMPHASIS 

The  emphasis  of  action — of  situation — of  acting — through 
busts — emphasizing  leaders  in  action — relative  value  of 
the  players — placing  scenes. 

One  of  the  important  matters  to  which  most  writers,  not  all  of 
them  beginners,  give  far  too  little  thought  is  the  proper  placing 
of  the  emphasis  and  the  assignment  of  values. 

In  the  spoken  drama  the  actor  speaks  more  slowly  or  more  em- 
phatically certain  words  or  groups  of  words  to  which  he  wishes 
to  attract  particular  attention  because  of  their  greater  meaning 
than  the  general  speech.  In  the  printed  book  these  extra — im- 
portant words  are  emphasized  by  being  printed  in  italics  or  small 
capitals.  If  the  words  are  written  a  line  is  drawn  under  them. 


TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

In  the  action  it  is  not  possible  to  speak  lines,  to  italicize  or  un- 
derscore, but  the  handling  of  the  action  of  the  story,  the  situation 
or  through  the  individual  acting,  it  is  possible  to  produce  precisely 
the  same  effect.  Take  this  scene  for  example : 

2-     Lawn-  Myra  and  Holbrook  on-  John  enters-  calls  Myra-   they 
exit. 

In  the  first  scene  it  was  shown  that  John  and  Myra  are  man  and 
wife.  Played  without  emphasis,  scene  two  would  show  that  Myra 
is  talking  to  Holbrook  and  John  comes  and  tells  her  that  it  is 
time  they  should  be  going  home.  The  scene  means  no  more  than 
if  Myra  had  been  talking  to  one  of  her  women  friends.  It  is  no 
unusual  thing  for  a  woman  at  a  garden  party  to  talk  to  a  man 
other  than  her  husband.  It  is  the  commonplace. 

But  give  that  scene  emphasis  and  at  once  it  takes  on  a  different 
aspect.  What  we  really  want  to  show  by  this  scene  is  that  Myra 
is  more  interested  in  Holbrook  than  a  woman  married  to  another 
has  a  right  to  be.  To  get  the  point  over,  emphasis  must  be  given 
the  fact.  Write  it  this  way: 

2-     Lawn-  Myra  and  Holbrook  close  to  camera-  Holbrook  is 
talking  earnestly-  Myra  half  eager,  half  reluctant  to 
listen-  Holbrook  pleads  his  cause-  John  enters-  stands  in 
background  a  moment-  they  do  not  hear  him-  Holbrook  tries 
to  take  Myra's  hand-  she  gently  resists-  John  comes 
forward-  speaks-  Myra  and  Holbrook  turn  amd  rise-  John 
leads  Myra  off-  at  line  Myra  turns-   looks  back  at 
Holbrook-  he  throws  her  a  kiss-  she  frowns,   then  smiles- 
exits-  Holbrook  turns  to  camera  with  confident  smile  on 
face. 

Now  the  scene  will  be  full  of  meaning.  We  can  see  that  Hol- 
brook is  trying  to  win  Myra  from  her  duty  to  her  husband.  She 
is  attracted,  but  it  is  plain  that  she  has  not  yet  listened  seriously  to 
his  pleas.  John  knows  of  Holbrook's  efforts.  We  have  written 
more  action  than  should  be  given  most  scenes,  but  here  we  need 
greater  detail  because  we  are  gaining  our  emphasis  through  the 
action.  You  must  pass  your  idea  along  to  the  director  more  fully. 
Now  that  the  fact  is  established,  he  will  know  in  later  scenes  the 
attitude  of  the  three  leading  characters  toward  each  other,  and 
will  not  need  so  much  business,  but  this  first  scene  must  be  em- 
phasized. 

In  the  same  way  you  will  emphasize  the  heroine's  preference 
for  one  of  two  suitors.  If  she  leaves  one  for  the  other  gladly,  she 


VALUES  AND  EMPHASIS  99 

is  more  fond  of  the  newcomer.  If  she  is  sorry  to  be  interrupted, 
her  interests  lie  in  the  other  direction.  "John  speaks,  exits  with 
Myra"  means  nothing  much,  but  if  you  add  that  Myra  shows  im- 
patience at  the  interruption  or  turns  gladly  to  John,  we  know  how 
John  stands  in  her  estimation. 

Emphasis  by  situation  gives  us  another  means  of  driving  home 
the  story.  Myra  is  perhaps  rushing  headlong  to  her  fate.  There 
is  no  reason  why  she  should.  For  the  purpose  of  the  story  it  is 
necessary  to  hold  the  sympathy  to  John  and  to  show  that  she  is 
merely  thoughtless,  perhaps  reckless,  and  is  not  driven  to  another 
man  through  her  husband's  coldness.  We  write  in  a  short  scene 
showing  her  happy  home  life  and  John's  tenderness.  Later  on, 
when  he  tells  her  that  she  cannot  have  the  child,  we  approve  of 
his  action  for  we  remember  that  it  is  wholly  her  own  fault  that 
she  ran  away  with  Holbrook. 

Emphasis  by  acting  is  the  third  means  of  getting  direct  em- 
phasis. Rose  has  just  rejected  George's  proposal  of  marriage.  He 
leaves  the  house  and  he  passes  through  the  streets  to  his  own  home. 

If  he  merely  comes  into  the  scene  and  walks  through  it  there 
is  not  much  to  the  action,  but  if  he  stops,  presses  his  hand  to  his 
aching  head  and  passes  on,  then  we  know  that  he  feels  very  badly 
about  the  matter.  Even  a  slowing  down  of  the  acting  will  bring 
emphasis. 

Emphasis  by  means  of  bust  pictures  is  merely  directing  particu- 
lar attention  to  some  action  by  showing  an  enlarged  picture  of 
this  action  at  the  moment  of  its  happening,  as  was  done  in  Chap- 
ter Six  in  the  matter  of  the  key. 

Sometimes  it  is  better  to  use  the  emphasis  of  action  or  acting  in 
preference  to  the  bust,  which  should  be  employed  only  when 
necessary.  Suppose  that  Hugh  wants  to  put  some  marked  money 
into  Frank's  pocket  through  the  aid  of  his  accomplice,  Vera.  At 
the  proper  moment  there  might  be  flashed  a  bust  of  Frank's 
pocket  with  Vera's  hands  slipping  the  money  into  it.  This  is  very 
much  the  same  thing  as  when  a  newspaper  prints  a  photograph 
and  marks  with  a  cross  where  the  body  was  found  or  draws  a  cir- 
cle around  the  thumbprint  on  the  safe  to  call  attention  to  the 
salient  feature  of  the  picture. 

But  in  writing  the  picture  we  can  get  almost  the  same  effect  by 
writing  the  action  this  way : 

Hugh  still  talking.     Gradually  forces  Frank  toward  the 
front  of  the  stage  where  Vera  stands  waiting-  cautiously 
she  slips  the  marked  bills  into  his  pocket  and  signals 
Hugh  that  this  has  been  done. 


100  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

In  the  story  of  the  Count  we  could  not  bring  him  down  front 
and  so  the  bust  was  used,  but  here  the  characters  can  be  moved 
down  to  the  front  line  and  there  the  action  can  be  played  clearly. 

Emphasis  of  action  may  also  be  employed  to  give  emphasis  to 
the  printed  leader,  since  the  visual  fact,  the  fact  in  action,  is  so 
much  more  emphatic  than  the  printed  word.  A  leader  may  be  re- 
quired to  state  that  Helen's  father  objects  to  Herbert  because  he 
wishes  his  daughter  to  marry  a  title,  but  when  we  see  the  fact 
on  the  screen,  the  meaning  of  the  leader  is  driven  home,  so  do  not 
trust  to  the  leader  alone  to  carry  the  important  announcement. 
Write  in  a  short  scene  that  emphasizes  that.  You  cannot  show 
the  matter  in  the  scene  alone,  but  the  scene  forces  on  the  memory 
the  fact  the  leader  contains. 

Value  has  two  aspects,  the  value  of  the  character  and  the  value 
of  the  scene  or  situation. 

The  value  of  the  character  depends  upon  the  relation  of  that 
character  to  the  story  and  its  narration  in  action.  The  maid  that 
merely  brings  her  mistress'  wraps  when  she  wants  to  leave  the 
house  is  of  negative  value.  She  is  little  more  useful  to  the  story 
than  the  table  or  chairs  that  dress  the  setting.  But  if  she  aids  the 
love  affairs  of  her  mistress  and  the  hero,  finally  arranging  so  that 
the  girl  can  elope,  then  the  maid  becomes  one  of  the  leading 
characters. 

Having  a  real  value  to  the  plot  she  should  be  early  and  prop- 
erly identified.  Show  that  she  is  devoted  to  her  mistress  and  that 
she  is  regarded  as  something  more  than  a  mere  automaton.  Do 
this  in  the  early  scenes  and  then,  when  her  services  are  needed,  it 
does  not  become  necessary  to  stop  and  offer  an  elaborate  expla- 
nation as  to  why  the  girl  should  turn  to  her  maid  for  assistance. 

No  character  essential  to  the  advancement  of  the  plot  should 
be  introduced  at  the  last  moment.  The  detective  who  comes  in  to 
announce  that  he  has  discovered  that  the  villain  and  not  the  hero 
killed  Banker  Kirkham  should  not  be  required  to  identify  him- 
self to  the  cast  and  to  the  audience  in  that  scene.  Earlier  in  the 
action  write  in  a  leader  that  the  heroine  consults  the  detective 
and  then  show  in  a  scene  who  the  detective  is.  Then  when  he 
suddenly  comes  into  the  last  scene  and  points  out  the  villain  as 
the  real  criminal,  we  know  who  he  is.  It  is  not  necessary  to  halt 
the  action  while  he  points  to  his  badge  and  to  the  heroine  to 
show  who  he  is  and  who  employed  him. 

Each  time  a  new  character  comes  upon  the  screen  there  is  a 
certain  relaxation  in  the  mental  grip  on  the  plot  while  the  identity 
of  the  newcomer  is  determined.  Take  advantage  of  that  lapse  to 
get  the  introduction  over  with  and  then,  when  the  essential 


VALUES  AND  EMPHASIS'  ;  '  >l6l ' 

comes,  there  is  no  drop  in  the  interest,  no  matter  how  momentary. 
Get  all  the  introductions  over  within  the  first  third  of  the  action. 
The  butler  who  ushers  the  detective  in  does  not  have  to  be  intro- 
duced, but  the  detective  must  be  known  to  the  audience  and  ten 
feet  in  front  of  the  climax  is  not  the  proper  place  for  the  intro- 
duction. 

It  should  be  found  that  not  more  than  four  or  five  characters 
are  of  real  value  to  the  plot.  Keep  your  action  to  those  as  much 
as  possible.  From  the  nature  of  things  you  must  have  a  hero,  a 
villain  and  a  heroine.  The  villain  does  not  have  to  be  a  man 
steeped  in  crime  to  deserve  the  name.  He  may  be  of  as  good  a 
moral  character  as  the  hero  himself,  but  if  he  is  the  man  who  in- 
terposes the  obstacles  in  the  hero's  path,  the  man  who  makes  pos- 
sible the  element  of  struggle  without  which  no  play  is  considered 
complete,  then  he  is  the  villain. 

Perhaps  he  may  only  be  the  other  suitor  to  the  heroine's  hand, 
the  man  who  keeps  the  hero  from  sailing  right  in  and  getting  the 
right  to  buy  the  engagement  ring.  That  doesn't  sound  like  an 
act  of  villainy,  but  it  is,  technically,  if  not  in  fact. 

We  have,  then,  these  three  leading  characters.  There  may  be 
twenty  people  helping  the  villain,  but  they  are  all  of  less  value 
than  the  villain  because  they  merely  espouse  his  cause.  The  hero 
may  have  fifty  adherents,  but  not  one  of  them  can  equal  him  in 
value.  They  are  all  important  to  the  story  in  greater  or  less  de- 
gree, but  they  are  not  as  important  to  the  story  as  these  three. 

Suppose  that  you  ask  for  a  glass  of  water  and  a  servant  brings 
it  to  you  on  a  tray.  The  glass,  the  tray  and  the  servant  all  figure 
in  the  action,  but  the  thing  of  value  is  the  water,  which  you  have 
asked  for.  The  other  objects  are  all  less  important  to  you  than 
the  water,  and  yet  without  the  glass  you  could  not  have  had  the 
water  and  without  the  servant  you  would  not  have  had  the  glass. 

The  policeman  who  arrests  the  villain  in  the  last  scene  is  not 
important.  The  arrest  is  the  important  matter  and  he  is  merely 
the  means  to  the  end.  It  is  not  necessary  to  identify  him,  but  it  is 
necessary  to  show  as  quickly  as  possible  the  leading  characters, 
their  relation  to  each  other  and,  to  some  extent,  their  relation  to 
the  play. 

Having  the  sense  of  values  will  enable  the  author  to  plan  his 
scenes  intelligently.  Each  scene  should  advance  the  story  one 
point  and  should  be  given  place  and  length  in  proportion  to  its 
value. 

It  might  seem  to  the  beginner  at  first  glance  that  there  can  be 
but  one  place  for  a  scene  and  that  must  be  its  proper  place.  He 
has  been  told,  moreover,  that  all  happenings  should  be  shown  in 
their  chronological  order  and  he  cannot  understand  why  there 


102-  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

should  be  a  proper  place,  since  there  is  but  one  place  where  the 
scene  will  fit  in  its  chronological  order. 

He  doesn't  stop  to  realize  that  there  are  many  things  that  might 
happen  ten  minutes  before  another  action  or  two  weeks  later  with- 
out in  the  least  affecting  the  story.  The  villain  has  to  slip  the 
marked  bills  into  the  hero's  pocket  before  he  can  accuse  him  of 
theft,  but  he  might  have  arrived  at  that  determination  after  the 
hero  knocked  him  down  for  trying  to  kiss  the  heroine  or  after 
the  scene  in  which  he  reads  a  letter  from  his  lawyer  telling  him 
that  his  creditors  are  trying  to  make  trouble  and  will  do  so  unless 
he  marries  the  rich  heroine  and  pays  his  bills. 

It  may  seem  that  there  is  no  choice  of  position,  since  the  re- 
sult is  the  same,  but  again  the  reasoning  is  mistaken.  If  the  de- 
cision to  get  the  hero  into  trouble  follows  the  blow  it  is  a  crime 
of  revenge.  If  it  follows  the  lawyer's  letter  it  is  a  crime  of  greed. 

In  the  same  way,  after  the  hero  is  thrown  into  jail  we  have  a 
short  scene  of  the  villain  gloating  over  his  triumph  and  another 
showing  the  heroine  in  despair.  It  may  not  seem  to  make  any 
difference  which  comes  first,  but  a  little  thought  will  bring  a  dif- 
ferent answer.  It  is  our  purpose  to  make  the  hero  and  heroine 
loved  and  the  villain  hated.  We  are  sorry  enough  for  the 
heroine,  because  we  just  saw  her  sweetheart  carried  off  to  jail. 
If  we  show  her  first  and  then  the  villain,  her  scene  will  'add 
strength  to  his  because  we  have  fresh  in  memory  the  pitiful 
spectacle  of  her  tears  to  inflame  afresh  our  resentment  against 
the  villain. 

We  may  show  that  the  husband  suspects  his  wife  of  wrong- 
doing and  then  run  a  scene  that  proves  her  innocent,  but  if  we 
first  proved  the  wife  innocent  and  then  showed  the  false  charge 
we  should  gain  far  greater  sympathy  for  the  wife.  If  we  want 
the  sympathy  we  reverse  the  scenes.  If  we  want  sympathy  to  go 
to  the  husband,  we  tell  of  the  innocence  in  a  leader  without  action. 

A  photoplay  is  not  a  greater  or  less  number  of  typewritten 
words.  It  is  the  best  and  most  complete  assembling  of  certain 
germane  facts  in  their  proper  order.  It  is  as  nice  a  study  as  the 
technique  of  the  stage  and  is  as  exacting  when  properly  done.  If 
you  would  write  a  really  good  photoplay  first  ascertain  the  value 
of  each  character  and  scene,  then  place  each  scene  and  use  each 
character  in  such  a  fashion  that  each  gives  as  much  assistance  to 
other  scenes  and  characters  as  possible. 


THE  DRAMATIC  STORY  103 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE   DRAMATIC   STORY 

Easier  than  comedy  to  most  persons — crime  and  violence  not 
in  themselves  dramatic — death  not  always  dramatic — 
heart  interest  makes  the  strongest  appeal — things  to 
avoid. 

It  would  seem  'that  most  beginners  start  in  with  comedy  stories 
with  the  idea  of  working  over  to  the  dramatic  play  when  they  have 
had  a  little  more  experience.  This  is  a  mistake,  for  of  the  two 
the  dramatic  play  is  more  apt  to  bring  results  for  the  reason  that 
the  story  may  carry  faulty  dramatic  construction  where  comedy 
requires  a  more  exact  technical  development. 

If  they  do  start  with  the  drama,  they  try  to  write  "strong' 
stories,  and  jumble  crime,  violence,  murder  and  sudden  death 
into  a  horrible  hodge  podge  of  plotless  nothing.  They  aim  at  the 
tragic  rather  than  the  happy  ending  and  seem  to  think  that  if  they 
cram  enough  sensational  incident  into  their  story,  the  fact  that 
it  has  little  or  no  plot  will  be  overlooked. 

Until  literary  judgment  is  formed,  the  supposedly  strong  story 
makes  the  greater  appeal  <to  the  writer  and  in  that  stage  of 
progress  he  is  apt  to  write  what  he  wants  rather  than  what  he 
should. 

The  really  dramatic  moment  is  not  the  result  of  an  act  of  vio- 
lence, but  the  idea  back  of  the  act.  It  is  this  fact  that  gives  value 
to  the  cut-back  when  used  in  a  dramatic  story.  You  do  not  fear 
the  crime.  You  fear  that  the  crime  will  be  committed. 

There  is  nothing  particularly  dramatic  in  the  sight  of  a  man 
standing  on  the  edge  of  a  cliff.  Thousands  of  men  have  stood 
on  the  edges  of  hundreds  of  cliffs  and  nothing  has  happened. 
There  is  nothing  dramatic  in  that. 

But  suppose  that  we  know  that  the  villain  has  undermined 
that  particular  part  of  the  cliff  so  that  the  removal  of  a  single 
prop  will  cause  tons  of  earth  to  fall  down  the  steep,  carrying  the 
hero  along.  At  once  the  situation  becomes  dramatic,  not  because 
anything  has  happened  to  the  man  standing  there  but  because 
something  may. 

Within  certain  limits  we  grow  more  apprehensive  for  the  hero's 
safety  as  the  moments  pass.  The  strain  of  waiting  tells  on  us, 


104  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

and  this  strain  is  greater — and  therefore  more  dramatic — than  if 
we  sat  watching  a  fist  fight  or  a  duel  with  knives  between  the 
hero  and  the  villain.  That  would  be  exciting  for  the  moment, 
but  there  would  not  be  the  nervous  strain  that  would  be  induced 
by  the  long,  tense  wait  for  the  moment  we  think  must  come.  The 
fight  is  exciting  and  mildly  dramatic,  but  the  hero  is  supposed  to 
have  an  even  chance  with  the  villain  and  the  outcome  is  in  doubt, 
but  there  is  apparently  but  one  outcome  of  the  cliff  episode.  We 
can  only  wait  with  nerves  at  a  tension  for  the  end  to  come.  That 
is  truly  dramatic.  Through  the  use  of  cut-backs,  as  already  ex- 
plained, the  finish  is  delayed  while  the  situation  grows  in  tensity, 
but  we  must  first  have  the  dramatic  idea  to  work  with,  and  the 
dramatic  idea  is  seldom,  if  ever,  the  actual  crime  or  the  act  of 
physical  violence. 

Two  men,  each  carrying  a  revolver,  enter  a  deserted  shack.  A 
shot  is  heard,  or  smoke  floats  out.  There  is  a  moment  of  inac- 
tion. Which  man,  if  either,  will  come  from  that  door  when  it 
again  swings  open?  Two  went  in.  Both  cannot  return;  perhaps 
both  are  dead  and  the  door  will  not  be  opened  save  by  someone 
from  the  outside.  There  is  a  far  greater  dramatic  value  in  that 
moment  than  if  the  entire  details  of  a  duel  should  be  played  be- 
fore our  eyes.  The  anticipation  of  evil  is  far  more  dramatic  than 
the  sight  of  evil.  Suggest  rather  than  show  crime  if  you  would 
be  truly  dramatic. 

Death  is  seldom,  dramatic.  It  is  even  capable  of  being  turned 
to  farce  if  overdone.  One  of  the  funniest  stories  that  was  ever 
screened  ended  with  the  suicide  of  the  sole  remaining  member 
of  the  cast.  All  the  others  had  been  murdered.  It  was  meant  by 
producer  and  author  alike  to  be  tremendously  sensational,  but 
there  is  but  a  short  step  from  the  ultrasensational  to  the  travesty 
of  sensation. 

Death  in  itself  is  not  dramatic,  but  the  manner  of  death  may 
be,  though  it  is  far  more  likely  that  the  dramatic  will  come  not 
from  the  death  or  the  manner  of  that  death  so  much  as  from  the 
effect  that  death  will  have  upon  the  living. 

John  kills  Jim.  The  fact  that  he  does  so  is  not  dramatic.  It  is 
the  effect  that  Jim's  death  has  on  John's  life  that  makes  for 
drama.  If  he  had  not  become  a  murderer  John  would  have  lived 
on  a  sober  and  desirable  citizen,  but  the  blow  is  struck  and  Jim 
lies  lifeless  at  John's  feet.  In  an  instant  John's  whole  life  has 
changed.  Not  only  that  but  the  lives  of  his  wife,  his  children,  his 
parents  and  his  friends  are  affected  in  lesser  degree.  John  be- 
comes a  fugitive  from  justice.  Nell,  his  wife,  is  left  to  support 
herself  and  her  two  children.  Sam  seeks  to  take  advantage  of 


THE  DRAMATIC  STORY  105 

her  helplessness  to  tempt  her  from  virtue.  Her  struggles  to  re- 
pulse his  advances  and  remain  true  to  her  better  self  are  far  more 
dramatic  than  the  fact  that  Jim  is  dead.  It  will  make  a  better  and 
more  dramatic  story,  probably,  than  the  escape  of  John,  though 
to  the  beginner  it  would  seem  that  the  only  development  from  the 
incident  of  the  murder  would  be  the  escape  of  John  and  his  sub- 
sequent wanderings. 

Both  might  make  good  stories,  but  you  will  find  a  more  cer- 
tain sympathy  for  the  innocent  wife  than  for  the  escaping  mur- 
derer, no  matter  how  great  may  be  his  provocation. 

Crime  is  not  in  itself  interesting.  There  is  nothing  dramatic  or 
gripping  in  the  theft  of  a  watch  or  a  thousand  dollars.  If  the 
story  of  a  crime  interests,  it  is  not  because  of  the  crime  but  be- 
cause of  some  other  factor  of  the  story.  The  Sherlock  Holmes 
stories  are  not  interesting  because  they  are  the  stories  of  crime 
and  its  detection.  They  are  interesting  because  of  the  adroit  man- 
ner in  which  the  crimes  are  planned  and  the  ingenuity  shown  in 
their  detection.  We  admire  the  cleverness  of  the  detective  and 
his  opponents  rather  than  in  the  facts  of  the  crime.  To  write  the 
story  of  crime  is  almost  to  confess  oneself  lacking  in  inventive- 
ness. Unless  you  can  write  a  story  to  equal  the  work  of  Conan 
Doyle,  you  are  either  imitating  that  style  or  else  not  even  a  weak 
imitation. 

Look  back  on  the  performances  that  you  have  seen.  Trace 
them  as  far  back  as  you  can  remember.  Which  stories  have 
lasted  longest  in  your  memory?  What  plays  of  last  year  can  you 
vividly  recall?  Are  they  stories  that  depended  purely  on  crime 
for  their  incentive,  or  were  they  stories  in  which  the  crime  was 
merely  incidental  to  the  story  or  else  wholly  wanting?  If  you  have 
the  normal  mind  you  will  be  surprised  to  find  how  few  stories 
you  can  remember  that  drew  their  greater  interest  from  acts  of 
violence.  You  remember  parts  of  them  in  a  hazy  way,  but  the 
story  that  made  the  strongest  impression  was  that  in  which  the 
appeal  was  made  to  your  head  and  heart,  not  to  your  craving  for 
momentary  excitement. 

In  other  words,  the  heart  interest  story  made  the  strongest 
and  most  lasting  impression.  Why  not  train  yourself  to  write 
heart  interest  stories,  too? 

But  do  not  confuse  heart  interest  with  love  interest.  Heart  in- 
terest is  an  appeal  to  the  generous  emotions,  not  the  relation  of  a 
romance.  Instead  of  making  your  appeal  with  surprise  and  shock ; 
instead  of  dealing  with  vice  and  crime,  you  make  your  points  by 
drawing  such  gentle,  lovable  characters  that  their  almost  conv 
monplace  adventures  are  made  graphic  and  interesting. 


106  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Take,  for  an  example,  a  widow  who  is  trying  to  send  her  son 
through  college.  It  is  almost  an  obsession  with  her.  She  wants 
to  have  her  boy  enjoy  the  advantages  that  her  husband  lacked. 
She  wants  to  give  him  the  chance  that  is  his  heritage.. 

She  saves  and  scrapes  that  expenses  may  be  met.  The  boy  tries 
to  help  by  working  his  way,  but  he  is  sensitive.  He  lacks  push 
because  he  fears  rebuff  and  he  keeps  so  closely  within  himself 
that  he  loses  the  opportunities  for  earning  money  that  might 
otherwise  fall  his  way.  He  is  out  of  touch  with  his  classmates 
and  his  college,  partly  because  he  is  too  timid  to  seek  to  get  in 
touch  and  partly  because  he  does  not  interest  his  fellows  with  his 
colorless  personality. 

The  mother  pictures  to  herself  the  social  as  well  as  the  educa- 
tional advantages.  As  she  plies  the  needle  with  her  stiff,  rheu- 
matic ringers,  she  loves  to  think  of  her  boy  on  the  campus,  one  of 
his  class.  She  figures  him  as  a  sort  of  college  hero,  and  because 
he  knows  that  is  her  dream,  his  letters  keep  up  her  delusion. 

The  boy  writes  home  that  he  must  have  a  new  suit.  His  old 
will  not  last  much  longer.  There  is  no  money  for  clothes.  She 
remembers  that  once,  in  sport,  the  lad  had  dressed  himself  in  the 
clothes  that  had  been  his  father's  wedding  suit.  The  coat  nearly 
fitted,  but  the  trousers  were  far  too  long. 

All  these  years  she  had  kept  that  suit  beside  her  wedding  dress 
that  is  to  be  her  shroud.  She  had  hoped  to  keep  it,  but  the  boy's 
need  outweighs  sentiment.  She  gets  a  pair  of  his  own  old 
trousers  and  cuts  down  the  others  to  match. 

The  suit  comes.  The  quaintly  old  fashioned  coat  is  bad  enough, 
but  the  trousers  do  not  reach  the  boot  tops.  She  had  forgotten 
that  he  had  stretched  up  in  the  three  years  since  he  has  worn  out 
the  other  pair.  He  doesn't  write  home  his  disappointment,  though 
in  his  first  moments  of  despair  and  anger  he  is  tempted  to  do  so. 
Her  innocent  pride  in  the  letters  from  him  will  not  let  him  write 
the  truth.  He  makes  the  old  suit  do  as  long  as  he  can,  but  at 
length  the  day  comes  that  he  cannot  wear  it  longer.  With  hot 
anger  and  shame  mingling  in  his  'heart  he  puts  on  the  old  suit 
and  faces  the  campus. 

His  oddity  of  manner  has  caused  him  to  be  let  alone,  but  now 
it  makes  the  case  all  the  worse.  His  classmates  and  the  men  of 
the  other  classes  unite  in  laughter  at  the  suit.  Half  blinded  with 
tears  of  anger  and  of  mortification  he  rushes  off  to  his  room. 

And  in  that  moment  comes  his  mother.  A  friend  has  brought 
her  to  town  in  an  automobile,  knowing  her  desire  to  see  her  boy, 
and  has  dropped  her  at  the  campus  while  he  goes  about  his  busi- 
ness affairs.  She  wears  her  best,  but  her  best  is  poor,  and  this 


THE  DRAMATIC  STORY  107 

ridiculous  old  lady  asking  for  the  man  in  the  funny  clothes  is  the 
final  touch  of  humor.  A  crowd  of  the  students  quietly  follow  her 
up  the  stairs  to  listen  at  the  door. 

The  son,  in  the  anger  of  the  moment,  turns  on  her.  In  the  rush 
of  shame  and  misery  he  lays  his  whole  heart  bare,  tearing  down 
the  air  castles  that  have  been  years  in  building. 

Then  the  old  woman  speaks,  not  in  reproach  but  in  explana- 
tion. She  tells  of  all  her  struggles  to  keep  him  going,  she  shows 
her  hands,  gnarled  and  knotted  with  toil.  She  shows  the  Geth- 
semnae  of  her  own  narrow  life. 

And  all  the  time  the  crowd  at  the  door  grows  more  sober.  They 
had  come  to  see  the  fun.  Now  they  cannot  leave.  At  last  the  cap- 
tain of  the  crew  rouses  himself  and  enters  the  room  followed  by 
the  others.  He  does  not  give  the  son  money  for  a  suit  of  clothes ; 
that  would  be  charity.  But  he  does  take  the  boy  into  the  fellow- 
ship of  the  class,  of  the  college.  He  makes  him  one  of  them  and 
there  is  the  unspoken  promise  that  he  will  be  shown  the  ways  by 
which  the  poorer  students  may  earn  their  way  through  college. 
The  old  lady  leaves  and  the  whole  class  gallantly  and  reverently 
escorts  her  to  the  waiting  car. 

Is  not  that  story  more  gripping  in  its  appeal  than  the  story  of 
the  man  who  shoots  his  best  friend,  takes  to  the  hills  and  meets 
death  behind  a  rock  standing  off  a  sheriff's  posse?  For  that  mat- 
ter doesn't  it  make  more  of  an  appeal  than  its  western  comple- 
ment that  has  been  filmed  several  times ;  the  story  of  the  lad  who 
has  turned  murderer  or  thief.  His  mother  comes  West  and  while 
she  stays  the  men  hide  his  real  character  and  force  him  to  keep 
straight  that  she  may  not  be  undeceived.  It  will  take  more  skill 
to  develop  a  plot  like  that  correctly,  but  it  will  make  a  story  bel- 
ter worth  while. 

Because  a  story  is  simple  as  to  plot  it  does  not  necessarily  fol- 
low that  it  is  more  easy  to  write.  You  can  make  more  noise 
with  a  brass  band  than  with  a  grand  piano,  but  sometimes  the 
pianist  is  a  greater  musician  than  the  men  of  the  band  and  evokes 
more  wonderful  harmonies. 

In  the  crime  story  the  incidents  will  generally  carry  the  charac- 
ters, but  in  the  heart  interest  story  the  characters  must  carry 
the  play.  In  other  words  the  crime  story  with  its  rush  of  inci- 
dent will  be  so  exciting  for  the  moment  that  the  lack  of  real  story 
will  not  be  noticed,  but  the  heart  interest  story  seems  real  because 
you  have  made  the  people  real ;  so  real  that  their  doings  interest  us. 

Mother  love  is  perhaps  the  strongest  appeal  of  all,  but  it  must 
be  a  genuine  appeal,  a  real  story  of  mother  love,  not  merely  the 
dragging  into  a  weak  story  of  a  mother  to  save  a  worthless  plot. 


108  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Patriotism  comes  next,  then  love  of  home,  but  patriotism  is  not 
represented  by  a  wildly  waving  American  flag. 

The  romance,  or  love  story  is  next  to  the  crime  story,  the  theme 
most  often  attempted.  All  the  world  loves  a  lover  and  his  lass, 
and  almost  any  love  story  with  a  decently  novel  idea  will  find  a 
welcome,  but  there  are  certain  love  stories  that  are  so  very  com- 
mon the  author  will  find  it  best  to  leave  them  alone. 

Out  of  every  hundred  love  stories  written,  probably  ten  are 
written  around  an  elopement.  Five  more  are  written  around  the 
overcoming  of  parental  objection  and  fully  twenty-five — a  quarter 
of  the  entire  output — are  what  Hal  Reid  has  tersely  compressed 
into  "They  love,  they  quarrel,  they  are  reconciled."  Unless  the 
quarrel  and  its  sequel  differ  from  the  usual  run,  it  is  better  to 
leave  these  to  others  and  strike  out  along  more  original  lines. 

This  would  seem  to  be  equivalent  to  saying  that  love  stories 
should  be  left  severely  alone.  This  is  not  so.  Write  love  stories, 
by  all  means,  for  there  is  a  steady  market  for  them,  but  seek  to 
give  some  brand  new  -twist  to  plot  or  development  if  you  would 
make  sales. 

Suppose  that  we  take  the  "Modern  Cinderella"  idea.  The  girl 
loses  her  slipper  and  a  man  falls  in  love  first  with  the  slipper  and 
then  the  owner.  This  is  a  master  plot  that  has  been  used  dozens 
of  times  and  not  always  with  much  originality  to  the  touches. 
Let  us  see  if  we  cannot  twist  it  around. 

Nell  loses  her  slipper.  It  falls  on  the  fire  escape  below  and  it 
is  found  by  a  young  man  who  occupies  that  apartment  with  his 
mother.  He  falls  in  love  with  the  slipper  and  its  owner  and  sets 
it  back  on  the  fire  escape  as  a  bait  for  the  owner. 

Then  he  is  called  to  the  telephone  and  as  he  rushes  back  the 
slipper  is  gone — but  he  can  see  the  janitor's  feet  ascending  the 
iron  ladder.  He  haunts  the  front  steps  and  eyes  the  footwear  of 
every  woman  passing  in  or  out.  At  last  he  sees  the  slipper  again. 
To  his  surprise  he  is  not  the  least  bit  in  love  with  the  owner,  but 
there  was  a  girl  he  saw  who  has  captured  his  fancy.  He  wins 
her  love.  Then  he  tells  the  story  of  the  slipper  and  she  confesses 
that  it  was  hers  but  that  after  the  loss  of  one  and  its  recovery 
she  gave  the  pair  to  her  maid.  He  found  the  right  girl  after  all. 

It  will  be  well  to  leave  the  stories  of  deep  passion  alone  until 
increasing  technical  equipment  will  permit  you  to  handle  them 
properly.  There  is  but  a  small  chance  that  the  novice  will  be  able 
to  handle  the  incidents  of  intense  passion  without  becoming 
foolish  when  most  desirous  of  being  impressive. 

Purpose  plays  should  be  left  severely  alone.  By  purpose  play 
is  meant  a  story  that  in  the  guise  of  romance  or  drama  presents 
some  argument  in  favor  of  public  movement.  The  Edison  series 


THE   COMEDY   STORY  109 

of  tuberculosis  plays  are  purpose  plays  as  is  that  interesting 
comedy  that  argues  that  unless  you  brush  your  teeth  twice  a  day 
and  go  to  the  dentist  twice  a  year  you  will  be  sure  to  have  tooth- 
ache and  get  mad  and  break  up  housekeeping.  If  you  can  get  an 
order  for  such  a  story  and  possess  sufficient  knowledge  to  handle 
your  subject  intelligently,  it  is  proper  to  write  them.  You  will  not 
need  this  advice,  but  the  general  writer  should  understand  that 
these  plays  are  not  used  because  they  are  written.  They  are 
written  to  order  for  use  by  some  certain  company. 

Avoid  the  controversial  and  propaganda  stories.  In  other 
words,  do  not  seek  to  air  your  fads  in  film.  If  yon  do  or  do  not 
approve  of  Christian  Science,  the  vote  for  women,  or  are  for  or 
opposed  to  secret  societies,  cults  or  sects,  parties  or  movements, 
faith  or  fads,  do  not  air  your  views.  They  will  not  interest  others 
as  much  as  they  do  you  and  the  maker  of  films  seeks  to  avoid 
giving  offense  to  anyone.  You  may  write  a  clever  story  because 
you  are  particularly  interested  in  your  subject,  but  there  is  no 
reason  why  the  film  manufacturer  should  "take  sides,"  and  the 
probabilities  are  that  he  will  not. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
THE   COMEDY   STORY 

Difficult  to  write — idea  and  action  must  both  be  humorous — 
developing  the  idea  in  comedy  action; — avoid  ridicule — 
personal  afflictions  not  comedy  material. 

Few  writers,  even  those  well  advanced,  appear  to  realize  that  it 
is  more  difficult  to  write  good  comedy  than  good  dramas.  It 
seems  so  simple  a  thing  to  throw  together  a  few  funny  situations, 
that  there  is  placed  on  the  market  a  flood  of  worthless  scripts, 
mere  incidents  as  the  first  book  agent  story  in  Chapter  Eight,  or 
influence  stories. 

Back  in  the  dark  days  of  motion  picture  comedy,  when  incident 
was  considered  sufficient  by  producers  who  knew  no  better,  there 
were  produced  a  vast  number  of  comedies  of  a  general  resem- 
blance. A  professor  invented  a  pill  or  a  potion  or  a  magic  wand 
that  would  cause  people  to  sing  or  cry,  to  dance,  or  to  kiss  each 
other,  or  whatever  it  might  be.  This  continued  for  several  hun- 
dred feet  and  then  the  victims  would  turn  on  the  savant,  and, 
after  a  chase,  would  duck  him  in  the  pond  or  beat  him  up  as 
might  be  most  convenient. 


110  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Failing  an  influence,  there  would  be  the  incident  story  in  which 
Mr.  Buttin  or  Mrs.  Nosey  went  from  place  to  place  meddling 
with  other  person's  affairs  and  always  getting  the  worst  of  it,  or 
there  was  the  frankly  chase  picture.  A  baseball  was  batted  out  of 
a  picture  and  for  the  rest  of  the  film,  it  went  upstairs  and  down- 
stairs, climbed  fences  and  trees  and  did  all  sorts  of  impossible 
things  while  the  actors  rushed  through  the  scene  in  a  mad  chase, 
overturning  animate  and  inanimate  objects  and  perpetually  falling 
over  fences,  other  obstacles  and  each  other. 

Such  things  once  formed  the  bulk  of  the  comedy  production 
and  still  would  be  regarded  as  humorous  by  quite  a  large  per- 
centage of  photoplay  adherents,  but  there  exists,  on  the  other 
hand,  a  well  defined  demand  for  something  better  and  the  Euro- 
pean market  will  not  absorb  the  chase  picture  nor  will  it  take 
much  incident  comedy. 

Today  the  photo-comedy  must  be  a  comedy  idea  told  in  hu- 
morous action.  In  the  stage  comedies  the  idea  is  exploited 
through  humorous  situation  and  cleverly  written  lines.  In  photo- 
play we  may  have  the  situations,  but  lacking  the  dialogue,  some- 
thing must  be  found  in  its  place.  Since  action  takes  the  place  of 
dialogue  in  photoplay,  it  follows  that  in  the  action  must  be  found 
this  missing  element  of  comedy  dialogue.  In  the  stage  comedy  it 
is  the  dialogue  that  keeps  the  audience  laughing,  in  the  photo- 
comedy,  the  funny  action  must  keep  things  going  while  the 
comedy  idea  is  unfolded. 

And  mind  you,  the  action  must  be  funny  not  merely  grotesque. 
A  man  slipping  on  a  banana  peel  may  be  funny  of  itself  to  some 
minds,  but  if  the  man  in  falling  trips  up  the  stern  father  who  pur- 
sues the  eloping  lovers,  the  action  is  funny  to  all  because  it  leads 
to  something.  It  is  no  longer  an  isolated  act;  it  has  become  a 
part  of  the  story. 

There  is  this  difference  between  comedy  and  drama  that  creates 
the  differing  conditions.  In  drama  the  story  is  strong  and  ab- 
sorbing. It  starts  from  a  definite  point  and  if  properly  written  at 
once  claims  the  interest  of  the  spectator.  Each  action  advances  the 
story  toward  the  climax  and  so  the  suspense  is  maintained.  In 
comedy  the  climax  is  merely  a  joke.  It  lacks  the  grip  of  the  big 
dramatic  idea,  and  so  the  path  from  the  start  to  the  exposition 
of  the  climax  joke  must  be  made  interesting  through  the  comedy 
of  action. 

As  has  been  said  in  an  earlier  chapter,  the  comedy  script  does 
not  have  to  be  funny  in  itself;  indeed,  the  script  that  reads  hu- 
morously is  justly  regarded  with  suspicion  by  the  editor,  for  it  is 
almost  always  found  that  the  humor  has  been  put  into  the  script 
instead  of  in  the  action.  The  point  aimed  at  is  a  story  that 


THE  COMEDY  STORY  111 

shall  be  amusing  through  the  action  and  idea.  The  script  is 
merely  the  description  of  the  action  through  which  the  idea  is 
conveyed.  In  appraising  the  offering  the  Editor  reads  the  words 
but  he  sees  the  action.  He  will  not  appreciate  the  jest  in  the 
written  script.  He  wants  to  see  it  in  the  action.  Therefore  do  not 
labor  to  make  the  script  read  cleverly;  devote  your  energies  and 
inventiveness  to  making  the  action  amusing. 

The  simplest  rule  is  to  give  the  audience  something  funny  to 
think  about  and  give  it  to  them  in  action  that  is,  of  itself,  funny. 
Once  the  trick  is  caught — and  it  is  largely  a  trick — this  is  a  com- 
paratively simple  matter  to  one  with  a  natural  sense  at  humor, 
but  the  disposition  to  lightly  regard  the  production  of  a  comedy 
has  resulted  in  the  writing  of  thousands  of  utterly  useless  scripts. 
The  writer  feels  assured  that  his  idea  is  stronger  and  more  ap- 
pealing than  much  that  he  sees  on  the  screen  and  he  cannot  un- 
derstand why  his  brilliant  script  is  rejected  in  favor  of  one  less 
funny.  The  answer  almost  always  is  that  the  script  accepted  and 
produced  :has  both  the  comedy  of  idea  and  action  where  the  dis- 
appointed author  has  either  written  the  idea  or  the  action,  but 
not  both. 

Perhaps  the  simplest  explanation  may  be  found  in  such  humor- 
ous cartoons  as  the  Mutt  and  Jeff  series.  The  pictures  of  Mutt 
and  Jeff  in  varying  poses  are  of  themselves  amusing  and  the 
series  of  six  of  eight  poses  may  convey  a  suggestion  of  comedy 
story,  but  the  greater  appeal  is  made  in  the  dialogue  with  which 
each  picture  is  supplied.  It  is  the  idea  back  of  the  pictures  that 
makes  the  pictures  themselves  funny,  and  not  the  pictures  that 
give  the  humor  to  the  idea.  The  dialogue  alone  would  not  be  so 
appealing  nor  would  the  pictures  without  dialogue  seem  as  amus- 
ing. It  is  the  combination  of  the  two  that  brings  the  fullest  effect, 
so  give  the  idea  for  the  brain  and  the  action  for  the  eye  and  the 
most  effective  combination  is  produced. 

Suppose  that  we  take  the  old  variety  afterpiece,  Bibbs  and 
Bibbs,  better  known  to  the  present  generation  of  theatergoers 
as  An  Uptown  Flat.  The  idea  is  that  two  brothers  share  the 
same  apartment  each  with  his  own  domestic  extablishment,  but 
sharing  the  common  rooms.  The  wife  of  one  is  strong  minded 
and  that  brother  is  badly  henpecked.  The  other  brother  is  the 
dominant  character  on  his  side  of  the  house  and  he  browbeats 
his  wife.  The  assertive  brother  takes  the  other  out  and  gets  him 
drunk  in  the  hope  of  bringing  a  change  in  his  domestic  rela- 
tions. In  the  meantime  the  assertive  wife  induces  her  sister-in- 
law  to  get  the  whip  hand  of  her  husband.  The  curtain  falls  on 
the  situation  turned  around. 


112  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

From  this  master  plot  'have  been  written  scores  of  photoplays 
in  which  the  henpecked  husband  asserts  himself  in  the  last  few 
scenes  and  a  few  in  which  the  wife  changes  the  situation.  There 
is  mild  humor  in  the  scenes  in  which  the  husband  is  bullied  and  a 
strong  laugh  at  the  finish.  Much  more  can  be  gotten  out  of  the 
idea  with  a  proper  development. 

Suppose  that  Mrs.  Smith  is  not  only  the  head  of  her  house- 
hold, but  shows  a  disposition  to  take  charge  of  the  affairs  of  the 
entire  neighborhood.  She  gets  into  a  quarrel  with  Jones.  He 
cannot  thrash  Mrs.  Smith  and  it  would  be  a  poor  satisfaction  to 
add  to  the  sorrows  of  Smith  himself.  Jones  conceives  the  plan 
of  helping  Smith  to  regain  his  rights  and  at  the  same  time  avenge 
the  Jones'  wrongs.  He  gets  hold  of  Smith,  coaxes  him  into  the 
belief  that  he  can  run  his  household.  To  his  surprise  and  delight 
Smith  finds  that  he  can.  There  we  have  the  elements  of  a  story 
that  contains  a  larger  idea  than  the  original  plot  of  Smith  turn- 
ing in  sheer  desperation.  There  is  more  to  think  about  and,  if 
properly  told,  there  is  more  to  laugh  at. 

But  even  more  can  be  done  with  the  story.  Mrs.  Smith  knows 
that  she  has  her  enemy  Jones  to  thank  for  the  domestic  upheaval. 
She  sends  for  her  mother;  a  mistress  of  strategy.  Mother  not 
only  reduces  Smith  to  proper  subjection,  but  she  persuades  meek 
little  Mrs.  Jones  that  she  has  rights  and  in  the  end  Jones  and 
Smith  are  companions  in  misery.  It  requires  no  depth  of  insight 
to  perceive  that  this  idea  is  twice  as  amusing  because  there  is 
twice  as  much  idea. 

But  in  writing  the  plot  of  action  be  careful  that  the  action  itself 
is  rightly  planned.  Do  not,  for  instance,  write : 


Street-  Jones  meets  Smith  and  persuades  him  to  defy  his 
wife. 


Such  a  scene  would  merely  show  two  men  talking  to  each 
other.  A  leader  might  tell  what  the  subject  of  the  conversation 
was  and  thus  supply  the  comedy  of  idea,  but  the  comedy  of  action 
would  still  be  lacking.  It  will  be  necessary  to  supply  humorous 
action.  Suppose  that  Jones  arranges  with  a  prize  fighter  to  per- 
mit Smith  to  knock  him  out  and  so  give  Smith  the  moral  courage 
he  needs.  This  will  add  a  trifle  to  the  humor  of  the  idea  and  very 
decidedly  to  the  humor  of  the  action.  There  would  be  more  space 
required,  a  few  more  feet  of  film,  but  in  return  for  that  extra 
length  we  would  gain  in  the  action,  Suppose  it  to  be  played 
something  like  this; 


THE  COMEDY  STORY  113 

9-     Gymnasium-  Instructor  on-  Jones  enters-  speaks  to  Instruc- 
tor- explains-  indicates  about  Smith's  height-  passes 
money-   illustrates  a  knockout-  hits  Instructor-  Instructor 
shows  he  understands-  knocks  Jones  down-  "That  it?"- 
"Yes!"-  Instructor  pretends  to  apologize-  Jones  says  it's 
all  right-  exits-  Instructor  laughs. 

Leader-  Jones  persuades  Smith  to  assert  himself. 

10-  Street-  Jones  and  Smith  meet-  Smith  has  black  eye-  Jones 
pretends  sympathy-    secretly  laughs-   Smith   registers  that 
he  got  it  splitting  kindlings-  Jones  refuses  to  believe- 
argues-  leads  Smith  off. 

11-  Gymnasium  as  in  No.   9-  Instructor  on-  Jones  leads  Smith 
in-  Smith  timid-  Jones  jollies  him-  winks  at  Instructor- 
makes  Smith  put   on   gloves-    Smith  boxes  with  Instructor- 
very  much   afraid-  Instructor  takes  first  chance  to  lie 
down  and  take  the  count-  Jones  congratulates  Smith-  Smith 
swaggers-  playfully  leads  at  Jones-  knocks  him  out- 
Instructor  rises-  helps  Jones  up-  Jones  sore-  wants  to  hit 
Smith-  Instructor  prevents  him-  takes  gloves  from  Smith- 
they  exit-  Smith  trying  to  walk  like  a  tough. 

Now  we  have  replaced  a  mere  conversation  with  action  that 
amuses.  There  are  two  strong  laughs  in  nine  and  eleven  where 
the  knockouts  come  and  a  lot  of  smaller  ones  that  are  not 
actually  written  in  but  which  will  suggest  themselves  to  the  di- 
rector. We  have  written  in  the  'big  laughs  because  these  are  im- 
portant, but  we  have  let  alone  the  minor  matters  because  the 
run  of  action  will  suggest  these  to  the  competent  director  and 
the  incompetent  will  see  nothing  at  best. 

It  is  well  to  try  for  one  big  laugh  in  each  scene.  Here  there  are 
the  knockouts  in  the  gymnasium  scenes  and  the  black  eye  in  the 
street  scene.  It  may  not  be  possible  to  bring  laughs  into  the  first 
two  or  three  scenes  of  a  comedy,  because  here  we  have  to  get  the 
story  started  and  there  may  be  one  or  two  explanations  to  be 
made  that  are  more  important  for  the  mq^nent  than  comedy 
actions,  but  as  soon  as  the  proposition  is  advanced  there  should 
be  at  least  one  laugh  in  every  scene  in  a  farce.  In  polite  comedy, 
in  which  the  humor  of  idea  exceeds  the  humor  of  action,  there 
is  less  demand  for  comedy  action  since  there  is  a  stronger  story 
to  carry  the  interest  along,  but  even  in  polite  comedy  it  is  pos- 
sible to  keep  the  laughs  going  and  this  should  be  done. 

And  it  will  be  well  to  note  that  while  the  minor  laughs  do  not 
need  to  be  written  in,  the  big  laughs  must  be  clearly  indicated.  It 
is  not  sufficient  to  write  that  "John  says  good-bye  in  a  funny 
manner."  Tell  what  it  is  that  makes  the  farewell  humorous.  Say 


114  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

that  "John  lifts  his  hat — strikes  his  elbow  against  gate  post — hat 
flies  out  of  hand — he  stoops  to  recover  it — stumbles — fall  on  hat." 
Now  the  director  will  know  what  that  "funny  manner"  is. 

The  director  is  not  hired  to  do  your  thinking  for  you.  He  is 
paid  to  produce  what  you  have  thought  out. 

But  all  comedy  action  must  be  'backed  up  by  the  idea.  If  John 
is  particularly  anxious  to  make  a.  good  impression  on  the  girl  he 
is  bidding  good-bye  to;  if  he  is  particularly  anxious  to  be  elegant, 
his  failure  to  gain  the  effect  makes  the  merely  mechanical  business 
really  funny.  Some  few  persons  will  laugh  at  the  crushed  hat. 
More  will  discover  the  humor  in  the  failure  of  the  attempt,  in  the 
reduction  of  his  pompus  vanity. 

If  we  see  that  George,  visiting  his  sweetheart  in  the  suburbs, 
has  lost  his  pocket  book  and  must  walk  all  the  way  home,  we  are 
inclined  to  be  sorry  for  George.  But,  if  after  the  visit,  he  drops 
into  a  saloon  and  gets  into  a  game  of  poker,  being  cleaned  out  and 
then  refused  car-fare,  we  are  not  sorry  for  him  because  it  is  en- 
tirely his  own  fault. 

The  best  comedy  is  good  natured.  Aim  to  have  your  audience 
laugh  with  your  characters,  rather  than  at  them.  Avoid  ridiculing 
physical  afflictions.  A  woman  with  a  hair  lip  may  be  amusing  to 
you,  but  it  will  not  entertain  the  man  or  woman  with  a  similar 
infirmity,  or  whose  relative  or  dear  friend  is  so  afflicted.  This  is 
equally  true  of  lameness,  blindness  or  any  other  bodily  affliction 
and  true  in  a  greater  degree  of  any  story  burlesquing  religion,  or 
some  particular  religious  belief,  and  race,  party  sect  or  faith. 

Not  alone  because  of  various  censorships,  but  because  of  de- 
cency and  good  taste,  do  not  base  your  comedies  on  violations  of 
the  moral  or  civil  laws.  The  story  of  a  mild  flirtation  is  amusing 
if  the  flirtation  is  not  carried  too  far  and  the  flirt  receives  his 
just  deserts,  but  you  cannot  base  a  real  comedy  on  adultery  or 
nnchastity  and  a  story  in  which  the  humor  is  derived  from  the 
success  of  a  swindling  scheme  will  not  pass  the  Editors,  let  alone 
the  censorships,  unless  the  moral  is  rightly  applied. 

Death  is  not  comedy  material  in  any  circumstance.  Such  few 
comedies  as  have  been  produced  with  death  or  the  suggestion  of 
death  as  a  foundation  have  failed  to  win  success.  Of  course  there 
are  exceptions  to  this  rule  but  they  are  few. 

We  will  suppose  that  it  is  known  through  the  neighborhood 
that  Pat  Murphy  is  very  ill.  His  death  is  momentarily  looked 
for.  But  Pat  is  getting  better,  so  much  better  that  he  gets  out  of 
bed  and  beats  his  wife.  The  neighbors  hear  her  lamentations  and 
word  is  spread  through  the  neighborhood  that  Pat  is  dead.  The 
neighbors  come  with  flowers  and  condolences,  only  to  be  driven 
from  the  door  by  Pat  himself. 


THE  COMEDY  STORY  115 

This  would  not  be  very  funny,  but  it  would  not  be  gruesome. 
But  suppose  that  Pat,  to  fool  the  installment  collector,  pretends  to 
be  dead.  The  crape  is  displayed  on  the  door,  the  undertaker 
comes  and  measures  Pat  and  when  the  installment  man  comes  he 
is  reminded  that  the  company  gives  the  remaining  payments  to 
the  widow.  He  goes  away  and  Pat  rises  from  the  dead  to  ex- 
press his  joy. 

Here  is  death  and  the  suggestion  of  death.  It  may  possibly  be 
amusing  to  the  unthinking,  but  it  may  remind  hundreds  of  per- 
sons of  a  more  or  less  recent  bereavement  and  bring  tears  instead 
of  laughs. 

Most  Editors  will  not  consider  a  comedy  with  a  death  and  it 
will  scarcely  pay  to  write  for  those  few  who  may. 

Comedies,  based  on  overindulgence,  should  be  avoided.  The 
use  of  spirits  should  be  handled  with  care.  A  mild  case  of  ex- 
hiliaration,  such  as  Smith  has  in  the  book  agent  story,  may  pass, 
but  a  pronounced  case  of  intoxication  is  disgusting  to  most  per- 
sons no  matter  how  much  your  appreciation  of  the  story  may 
blind  you  to  the  actual  condition.  Remember  that  the  visual  pres- 
entation of  the  offensive  is  infinitely  worse  than  the  written  treat- 
ment and  that  you  are  writing  something  to  be  seen ;  not  merely 
to  be  read. 

Comedies  in  which  children  or  animals  are  abused  are  not 
comedies  at  all.  Resentment  at  the  treatment  of  the  helpless  child 
or  dumb  brute  will  far  outweigh  the  highest  possible  comedy 
value  of  such  a  scene  or  others  connected  with  it. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  try  and  turn  the  familiar  old  jokes  into 
comedies.  Most  of  these  are  known  to  the  Editor  and  if  he  wants 
them  he  will  write  them  himself.  Three  productions  of  the  man 
who  was  thrust  into  the  ball  room  without  his  trousers  when  he 
thought  he  was  going  to  an  ante-room  have  been  made  in  so  short 
a  space  as  a  year,  but  each  time  those  in  a  position  to  know  have 
found  that  the  story  was  written  by  the  Editor  because  comedy 
ideas  were  scarce  and  a  script  had  to  be  done  at  once. 

It  is  all  right  for  the  Editor  to  write  this  stuff  because  he  is 
not  offering  it  as  his  own  idea.  You  are  supposed  to  offer  only 
original  matter  and  if  you  send  in  something  like  that  it  will  be 
argued  that  if  you  will  steal  these  commonplace  ideas  and  offer 
them  as  your  own  you  will  assuredly  steal  less  well  known 
stories  and  possibly  get  the  studio  into  trouble  with  the  copyright 
laws.  It  is  possible  that  you  may  succeed  in  selling  one  of  these 
stories  to  some  editor  who  had  never  heard  that  particular  story, 
but  if  you  do  you  may  be  assured  that  on  its  production  at  least 
one  and  possibly  hundreds  will  write  the  studio,  commenting  on 


116  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

the  idea.  This  is  true  of  the  studio-made  story  as  well  as  the 
outside  product,  but  the  studio  story  is  known  to  be  old.  You  are 
paid  because  it  is  supposed  that  you  have  offered  something  new. 

It  is  essential  that  comedy  be  quick  moving.  The  slow,  de- 
liberate action  of  the  dramatic  story  is  not  possible.  There  should 
be  no  scene  longer  than  thirty  feet.  If  you  cannot  avoid  having  a 
longer  scene,  break  it  into  two  or  more  parts  with  cut-backs.  The 
story  that  drags ;  that  moves  slowly  either  in  narrative  or  action, 
will  not  score  a  success.  Where  twenty  to  forty  scenes  constitute 
the  average  full  reel  drama,  the  same  number  may  be  used  for  a 
half  reel  comedy  because  the  action  plays  so  much  faster  and 
there  is  need  of  active  movement  to  the  scenes  as  well  as  players. 
Polite  comedy  is  played  more  slowly  than  the  farce  comedy  or 
farce. 

It  is  well  to  keep  in  mind  that  comedy  does  not  make  the  im- 
pression on  an  audience  that  drama  does,  therefore,  to  spend 
large  sums  of  money  in  obtaining  some  special  effects  would  be 
impolitic.  The  comedy  is  supposed  to  be  able  to  "carry  itself" 
through  its  entertaining  qualities  and  not  need  the  aid  of  strong 
"effects."  Plan  your  comedies  for  a  simple  and  inexpensive  pro- 
duction. 

A  manufacturer  may  spend  several  thousand  dollars  for  special 
production  of  a  drama,  but  a  comedy  should  cost  but  little  more 
than  the  salary  list  of  those  regularly  employed,  because  added 
money  seldom  makes  return  in  added  effect. 

As  a  general  thing  the  comedy  script  runs  fuller  than  that  of  a 
dramatic  story,  because  in  comedy  the  action  is  almost  as  im- 
portant as  the  story  it  tells,  but  at  the  same  time  care  should  be 
taken  not  to  overwrite  and  a  study  of  condensation  will  enable 
the  author  to  write  as  briefly  as  for  drama  without  slighting  the 
laughs. 

Avoid  the  topical  comedy  dealing  with  the  affairs  of  the  mo- 
ment. Long  before  you  can  get  your  script  into  a  studio  the 
Editor  will  have  had  one  written  if  he. wants  one,  but  as  a  rule 
such  stories  are  avoided  unless  the  appeal  is  international. 

The  new  slang  phrase,  the  heat  of  a  political  battle,  the  passing 
fad  of  fashion  or  occupation  may  all  suggest  a  capital  story  to 
you,  but  such  stories  are  not  of  widespread  interest,  they  may 
not  even  appeal  to  the  entire  United  States,  to  say  nothing  of 
Europe,  and  so  baseball,  for  instance,  is  seldom  used  as  a  theme 
since  the  English  prefer  cricket  and  France  and  Germany  care 
for  neither. 

Stick  to  the  idea  that  will  be  as  good  a  year  from  now  and  it 
is  today  and  that  will  appeal  equally  to  the  audiences  in  Bombay 
and  Boston  and  you  have  a  story  that  is  likely  to  sell. 


THE  TRICK  PICTURE  117 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

THE  TRICK  PICTURE 

Limited  demand  for  the  trick  picture  story — basis  of  trick 
work — stop  camera — back  turning — accelerated  speed — 
double  exposure — double  printing. 

The  trick  picture  as  such  is  in  such  slight  demand  that  it  will 
not  pay  to  write  this  class  of  stories  except  on  a  positive  order. 
Trick  work  is  both  tedious  and  expensive  and  unless  exceptional- 
ly well  done  is  not  in  great  demand.  An  idea  of  how  trick  work 
is  done  will  help  the  author  to  understand  how  certain  effects 
may  be  gained  in  straight  dramatic  stories,  but  it  should  be  un- 
derstood that  this  chapter  is  for  the  information  of  the  author 
and  not  to  enable  him  to  explain  to  the  director  how  the  effect 
may  be  gained. 

There  is  a  common  belief  that  "anything  is  possible  to  the 
camera  through  trick  work"  and  that  statement  is  entirely  true, 
but  it  should  be  qualified  by  the  additional  fact  that  many  of 
these  trick  methods  will  give  a  cost  far  in  excess  of  the  benefit 
qf  the  effect  gained,  and  so,  while  the  effect  is  possible,  it  is  not 
practicable  to  do  the  trick  work  required. 

The  basis  of  most  trick  work  is  stop  camera,  double  exposure, 
double  printing  trick  turning,  or  stopping  down. 

Stop  camera  is  just  what  the  term  implies,  a  stoppage  of  the 
camera.  For  this  a  special  gear  is  used,  giving  one  picture  to 
every  turn  of  the  crank.  This  makes  it  possible  to  take  but  a  sin- 

^gle  picture  and  yet  be  certain  that  the  lense  is  covered,  which  is 
not  possible  where  the  usual  sixteen  to  the  second  handle  is  em- 
ployed. Some  cameras  use  the  four  to  one,  attachment,  which 
means  that  one  picture  is  taken  at  the  regular  speed  every  quarter 
second. 

This  device  is  employed  where  the  familiar  doll  drama  is  used 
in  which  dolls  seem  to  perform  the  actions  of  the  drama  instead 
of  players  of  flesh  and  blood.  After  each  exposure  the  positions 
of  the  hands  and  legs  are  changed  in  the  same  degree  that  a 
film  shows  the  limbs  of  regular  players  to  move.  If  it  takes  four 
frames  to  show  the  downward  movement  of  an  arm,  it  requires 
four  exposures  and  four  changes  to  get  the  same  effect  with  the 
doll.  When  the  .film  is  run  off  the  action  appears  continuous. 


US  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY- 

though  the  action  in  a  five  hundred  foot  picture  may  have  re- 
quired months  of  care. 

Stop  camera,  but  with  the  regular  attachment,  is  also  used  to 
produce  sudden  apparitions,  or  to  exchange  dummies  for  real 
players.  We  will  suppose  that  a  character  has  been  thrown  from 
a  cliff  or  an  upper  window.  The  upper  window  in  the  scene,  is 
set  on  the  stage  floor  and  the  drop  is  less  than  three  feet,  but 
going  outside  the  building  selected  for  the  other  half  of  the  fall, 
a  dummy  is  dropped  into  the  scene,  dressed  to  represent  the  actor 
playing  the  part.  The  camera  is  stopped,  the  position  of  the 
dummy  noted  accurately  and  while  the  dummy  is  removed  the 
actor  takes  its  place  as  nearly  as  possible.  The  camera  is  started 
again  and  the  action  is  continued.  If  the  substitution  has  been 
deftly  made,  the  effect  is  startlingly  real. 

If  players  are  on  the  scene,  the  director  cries  "Hold !"  and  at 
the  warning  they  remain  in  the  exact  position  they  have  as- 
sumed and  maintain  that  until  the  command  is  given  to  resume 
when  the  incompleted  action  is  finished. 

This  also  permits  the  substitution  or  removal  of  furniture  or 
other  articles  or  players  where  an  instantaneous  appearance  or 
disappearance  is  required. 

When  Faust  summons  the  Devil  by  incantation  he  turns  to  the 
point  at  which  the  Devil  should  appear.  Holding  this  position 
rigidly,  the  camera  is  stopped  and  the  Devil  steps  into  the  scene. 
The  fuse  of  a  smoke  bomb  is  lighted  and  the  camera  started. 
When  the  bomb  explodes  in  a  puff  of  smoke,  the  Devil  steps 
through  the  smoke,  Faust  cowers  in  fear  and  the  action  proceeds. 
In  the  cutting  room  the  portion  of  the  film  between  Faust's  sum- 
mons and  the  explosion  of  the  bomb  is  cut  out,  with  the  result 
that  as  Faust  points,  there  is  a  puff  of  smoke  through  which  the 
Devil  seems  to  appear. 

Back  turning  is  used  for  reversing  action.  In  all  cameras  the 
unexposed  film  is  passed  down  from  the  top  magazine  to  the  bot- 
tom box,  halting  behind  the  lense  for  the  instant  required  for 
exposure.  This  gives  the  straightforward  action.  But  by  chang- 
ing the  gearing,  the  film  can  be  run  from  the  bottom  box  into  the 
top,  giving  action  completely  reversed. 

Suppose  that  Jim,  the  brave  young  fireman,  loves  Nell,  the 
daughter  of  his  engineer.  So  does  Bill,  the  evil  switchman.  Nell 
refuses  to  marry  Bill  and  he  swears  that  Jim  shall  not  marry  her 
either.  He  trusses  her  up  and  lays  her  on  the  track  to  be  run 
over  by  the  very  engine  of  which  her  father  and  Jim  are  the 
crew.  Jim  sees  a  woman  on  the  track  and  rushes  along  the  run- 
ning board  to  the  cowcatcher,  picking  up  the  girl  as  the  train 
sweeps  past. 


THE  TRICK  PICTURE  119 

Even  with  the  train  running  slowly  it  is  possible  that  Jim 
might  fail  to  catch  Nell,  with  results  that  would  be  unpleasant  to 
Nell,  to  say  the  least,  so  back  turning  is  resorted  to.  The  train 
backs  into  the  scene  with  Jim  carrying  Nell.  At  the  proper  spot 
he  stoops  and  lays  her  on  the  track.  Then  in  reverse  he  pretends 
to  be  preparing  to  pick  her  up.  This  is  the  way  the  scenes  will  be 
written  to  "cover  up'*  the  trick : 

15-  Railroad  track-  Bill  enters,   carrying  Nell-  lays  her  on 
track-  exits. 

16-  Up  the  road-  Train  runs  through  scene. 

17-  Back  to  No.  15-  Nell  struggles  desperately. 

18-  Nearer  point-  Jim  comes  through  cab  window-  runs  to  cow- 
catcher. 

19-  Back  to  No.  17-  Nell  struggling. 

20-  Train-  Jim  on  cowcatcher. 

21-  Back  to  No.   19-  Train  comes  into  scene-  Jim  catches  Nell 
up-  train  through  scene. 

It  will  be  perceived  that  only  one  brief  scene  is  played  in  re- 
verse and  then  the  audience  is  too  busy  with  Nell  and  Jim  to 
note  that  the  smoke  is  going  down  the  stack  and  that  the  wheels 
are  turning  backward.  It  will  also  be  noticed  that  we  have  mere- 
ly indicated  the  effect  we  desire,  not  stopping  to  tell  the  director 
how  to  get  the  effect. 

Another  trick,  that  of  turning,  is  employed  here  to  get  the  effect 
of  rapid  motion  while  in  reality  the  scene  is  played  very  slowly. 
It  has  already  been  explained  that  turning  the  camera  slowly 
will  give  the  effect  of  rapid  motion  and  vice  versa,  and  here  slow 
turning  gives  the  train  a  speed  in  excess  of  its  actual  motion. 

There  is  one  other  form  of  trick  turning,  generally  employed 
only  in  comedy,  where  the  one-to-four  crank  is  used.  Now  we 
get  action  four  times  as  rapid  as  is  natural  and  the  characters 
seem  to  jump  from  spot  to  spot,  a  curiously  intermittent  effect 
that  almost  always  brings  a  laugh,  though  the  effect  has  been 
sadly  overworked  and  has  become  almost  as  much  a  thing  for- 
bidden as  the  chase. 

Double  exposure  and  double  printing  are  two  ways  of  arriving 
at  the  same  end.  The  film  may  be  turned  back  and  sent  through 
the  camera  twice  or  two  negatives  may  be  made  and  printed,  one 
over  the  other,  on  the  same  piece  of  positive  (film.  In  the  former, 


120  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

generally  used  to  show  the  same  actor  on  the  scene  in  two  places 
at  once,  it  is  customary  to  make  one  print  with  scenery  and  one 
against  a  box  of  black  velvet. *  This  is  lined,  top,  sides  and  bot- 
tom, with  black  and  is  better  than  a  straight  curtain  because  there 
is  practically  no  reflection  of  light  from  the  cloth.  The  actor 
stands  in  front  of  this  cloth,  dressed  in  light  clothes  and  is  regis- 
tered on  the  film.  His  actions  are  carefully  timed  to  correspond 
with  the  actions  already  registered  on  the  film,  a  slow  and  tedious 
matter  of  repeated  rehearsal.  A  quicker  method  is  to  use  a  mask 
and  take  but  one-half  of  the  scene  at  a  time,  but  this  requires  that 
the  players  shall  not  cross  from  one  side  to  the  other  across  the 
dividing  line,  and  limits  the  action. 

A  combination  of  double  exposure  with  mask  or  stopping  down 
gives  visions  and  dissolves,  the  fade  also  being  done  in  this 
manner. 

Most  persons  are  familiar  with  the  iris  disphragm  of  the  regu- 
lar camera  lense  and  know  that  by  turning  a  ring  or  button  the 
opening  can  be  enlarged  from  a  pin  point  hole  to  one  almost  the 
size  of  the  lense  barrel.  The  smaller  the  opening  the  less  light 
there  is  passed  through  to  affect  the  sensitive  film.  Because  of 
the  speed  at  which  they  are  taken,  the  almost  full  opening  is  used 
for  motion  pictures.  Stopping  down  gives  a  night  effect,  for  night 
is  merely  the  absence  of  light. 

In  a  vision  the  film  is  first  run  through  with  a  mask  just  in 
front  of  the  film  that  cuts  off  that  section  of  each  frame  where 
the  vision  is  to  appear.  Then  the  film  is  run  back,  the  mask  is 
changed  to  one  that  uncovers  only  the  space  for  the  vision  and 
that  is  made. 

In  dissolves  no  mask  is  employed,  but  stopping  down  is  re- 
sorted to.  We  will  suppose  that  Cinderella  mopes  by  the  fire  and 
her  fairy  godmother  is  to  appear.  As  Cinderella  strikes  a  pose 
suggesting  her  deep  depression,  the  cameraman  starts  to  stop 
down  the  lense.  Less  and  less  light  is  passed  through  to  affect 
the  film  until  the  diaphragm  is  down  to  the  limit  and  there  is  lit- 
tle more  than  a  trace  of  a  picture  registered. 

With  the  diaphragm  still  closed,  the  film  is  turned  back  to  the 
place  where  the  stopping  down  commenced.  This  is  an  almost 
full  picture,  but  gradually  grows  less  distinct.  Now  the  Fairy 
steps  into  the  scene  and  the  camera  turns  again.  This  time  the 
diaphragm  is  closed  to  give  but  the  faintest  image,  but  as  it 
gradually  opens  the  picture  grows  more  and  more  distinct.  It  fol- 
lows that  if  the  opening  of  the  diaphragm  is  done  in  precisely  the 
same  manner  as  the  closing  was  accomplished,  that  all  parts  of 
the  picture  will  be  equally  exposed  except  the  figure  of  the  fairy. 
This  at  first  is  no  more  than  a  misty  effect  gradually  taking  shape. 


THE  MULTIPLE  REEL  121 

We  will  suppose  that  at  the  start  of  the  dissolve  the  light  value 
fs  9  and  gradually  runs  down  to  a  value  represented  by  a  i.  Now 
the  second  time  the  initial  exposure  will  be  i  and  the  last  9.  It 
follows  that  all  parts  of  the  picture  that  have  been  seen  twice 
have  a  light  value  of  10  but  the  fairy  starts  with  an  intensity  of  I 
and  runs  up  to  9,  getting  the  full  ten  on  the  next  exposure,  be- 
cause she  was  on  the  scene  only  one  of  the  times  that  the  film  ran 
through.  A  fade  from  one  scene  to  the  next  is  done  in  the  same 
way,  but  now  the  camera  is  stopped  down  at  the  end  of  the  first 
scene  and  opened  as  the  second  scene  is  begun  so  that  one  scene 
dissolves  out  as  the  other  dissolves  in. 

It  will  be  seen  that  with  the  exception  of  straight  back  turning, 
all  trick  work  involves  much  labor  and  time-expense.  Be  chary 
of  the  use  of  tricks  unless  you  can  feel  assured  that  the  effect 
gained  will  be  well  worth  the  trouble  and  expense  involved. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    MULTIPLE    REEL 

The  series  story — the  preparation  of  the  script — how  to  break 
into  parts — numbering  the  scenes — the  synopsis. 

Stories  in  two  or  more  parts  are  known  as  multiple  reels  or 
two,  three  or  four-part  stories  as  the  case  may  be.  While  this  is 
undoubtedly  the  story  of  the  future,  its  special  technique  is  still 
so  new  that  few  definite  rules  may  be  laid  down. 

Some  companies  want  stories  in  which  each  reel  or  part  shall 
be  capable  of  being  used  as  a  single  reel  independently  of  the 
other  reels  or  parts.  This  is  because  a  story  may  be  found  not 
strong  enough  in  interest  to  run  for  two  or  three  reels  and  yet 
one  or  more  of  the  parts  may  be  made  into  good  single  reel 
releases. 

The  more  general  demand,  however,  is  for  a  series  of  reels  with 
a  continuous  subject,  each  reel  terminating  with  a  minor  climax 
with  the  grand  climax  at  the  end  of  the  last  reel.  For  this  no 
better  example  can  be  given  than  the  play  of  the  stage.  At  the 
end  of  each  act  there  comes  a  definite  stoppage  of  the  action  at  a 
point  which  leaves  the  audience  eager  for  the  continuation.  At 
the  end  of  the  first  act  the  villain  declares  that  the  heroine  shall 
be  his  and  the  curtain  falls  on  this  situation,  leaving  the  audience 
wondering  how  he  is  going  to  bring  this  to  pass.  We  are  eager 


122  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

for  the  curtain  to  rise  again  that  we  may  have  our  curiosity 
gratified.  At  the  end  of  the  second  act  the  hero  is  being  led  off  to 
jail  on  a  trumped  up  charge,  while  the  villain  takes  the  heroine 
off  on  a  yachting  cruise  very  much  against  her  will.  This  is  a 
pretty  state  of  affairs  and  we  wonder  how  things  are  ever  going 
to  right  themselves  after  all  this  mix-up.  We  know,  because  we 
have  been  to  the  theater  more  than  once,  that  it  will  all  straighten 
out  in  the  last  act  and  that  the  villain  will  get  the  worst  of  it,  but 
the  situation  is  interesting  and  we  wish  we  were  up  in  the  gallery 
along  with  the  rest  of  the  kids  that  we  might  hiss  the  villain,  too. 

A  third  form  is  the  disconnected  series,  such  as  the  Vitagraph's 
Lambert  Chase  series  in  which  each  story  is  complete  in  itself 
and  yet  employs  a  central  figure,  that  of  the  detective.  Some- 
times these  series  of  stories  are  all  written  by  the  same  person  or 
the  task  lies  between  three  or  four  studio  writers,  but  some  of 
them  are  open  to  any  writer  who  may  be  able  to  catch  the  trick 
of  writing  precisely  what  is  wanted. 

It  is  not  a  wise  plan  to  write  especially  for  any  particular  player 
or  series,  but  if  you  have  a  story  that  might  do,  send  it  to  the 
studio  with  the  suggestion  that  it  might  do  for  that  series.  If 
you  write  a  special  story  and  fail  you  must  change  it  about  to 
suit  the  more  general  market,  and  it  seldom  pays  to  write  par- 
ticularly for  one  character  or  player. 

The  fourth  style  is  the  serial  series,  of  which  the  first  was  the 
Edison,  What  Happened  to  Mary,  written  by  Bannister  Merwin. 
These  are  precisely  the  same  as  the  monthly  or  weekly  install- 
ments of  a  published  serial  and  must  be  written  by  the  same 
author  that  the  unities  may  be  preserved. 

In  trying  to  sell  the  serial  series  it  is  best  to  submit  the  general 
idea  to  the  company  with  which  you  hope  to  do  business.  If  they 
approve,  then  submit  a  full  synopsis  of  each  installment  and  sub- 
mit them  all  at  once.  If  these  synopses  are  approved,  then  the 
script  may  be  developed  in  full. 

This  is  more  a  matter  for  the  advanced  writer,  who,  by  that 
time,  will  need  no  instruction,  so  the  remainder  of  this  chapter 
will  be  devoted  to  the  straight  multiple  reel. 

Methods  of  preparing  the  script  differ  as  greatly  as  the  de- 
mands of  the  story.  Some  editors  prefer  the  single  script  without 
the  dividing  point  marked,  others  want  the  parts  marked  in  but 
the  script  as  a  whole,  while  some  desire  a  separate  script  for 
each  part. 

In  any  event  one  synopsis  and  one  cast  should  be  made  to  cover 
the  entire  story.  The  synopsis  may  be  little  longer  than  that  for 
the  single  reel.  It  is  possible  to  use  three  or  four  hundred  words 


THE  MULTIPLE  REEL  123 

instead  of  being  limited  to  250.  The  cast  is  apt  to  be  lengthy  and 
this  is  all  the  more  reason  why  care  should  be  taken  to  provide 
for  the  doubles. 

We  think  the  best  scheme  is  to  number  the  scenes  in  consecu- 
tive order  from  i  as  far  as  they  will  run.  Other  schemes  are  to 
use  Arabic  numerals  for  the  first  reel,  letters  for  the  second  and 
Roman  numerals  for  the  third.  This  is  apt  to  prove  awkward 
and  a  better  scheme  is  to  use  the  Roman  and  Arabic  in  combina- 
tion, scene  seven,  of  the  first  reel,  being  1-7,  and  the  tenth  scene 
of  the  third  reel  being  III-io.  The  straight  numbering  will  be 
found  to  be  the  best  for  the  entire  subject  will  be  produced  as  one 
script  and  the  scenes  in  the  second  and  third  reels  that  are  made 
in  the  same  sets  and  locations  used  for  the  first  will  be  made  at 
the  same  time.  By  having  only  one  scene  of  the  same  number 
there  is  no  possibility  of  confusion. 

One  point  to  observe  is  that  the  minor  climaxes  or  critical  mo- 
ments shall  fall  every  thousand  feet.  This  may  bother  you  at 
first,  but  a  little  practice  will  show  you  how  to  write  about  so 
much  action  to  each  reel.  You  cannot  tell  precisely  how  the 
action  will  run  unless  you  are  intimately  acquainted  with  the  di- 
rection methods  of  the  man  who  will  produce  your  script,  and 
even  then  you  will  be  none  too  certain.  In  writing  a  magazine 
serial  you  know  that  the  breaks  should  come  at  the  end  of  each 
five,  eight  or  ten  thousand  words  as  the  office  rules  may  require, 
but  in  writing  action  you  cannot  judge  by  the  number  of  words 
and  must  depend  upon  the  general  run  of  the  action. 

The  multiple-reel  is  no  more  than  a  very  strong  one  reel  story 
fully  told.  Tell  a  good  strong  story  and  you  have  a  multiple 
reel.  Some  two  part  stories  are  no  more  than  one  reel  stories 
produced  with  unusual  care.  Others  have  more  story  while  still 
another  form  fills  in  with  battle  scenes  and  Indian  fights  to  cover 
the  lack  of  a  full  story. 

There  should  be  no  more  leading  characters  for  the  three  reel 
story  than  for  the  one.  The  same  combination  of  hero,  heroine 
and  villain  should  serve  for  all  parts  of  the  story.  There  will  be 
a  greater  number  of  secondary  characters,  but  the  leads  will  re- 
main fixed  whether  the  story  is  in  one  part  or  ten,  because  the 
whole  story  deals  with  one  leading  character  precisely  as  the  half 
reel  does. 

Most  of  the  military  productions  are  produced  from  studio 
scripts  or  from  one  reel  stories  that  permit  amplification.  As  a 
general  thing  it  is  better  not  to  mark  in  the  battle  scenes  too 
strongly.  Give  plenty  of  room  for  their  introduction  and  a  rea- 
sonable excuse,  but  kave  the  rest  to  the  director  who  will  know 


124  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

the  lay  of  his  land  better  and  be  better  able  to  plan  the  exact 
movement  of  the  spectacular  scenes. 

It  will  be  a  good  plan  to  start  with  the  one  reel  and  gradually 
work  up  to  two  and  three.  Get  your  groundwork  laid  in  on  the 
short  subjects  and  when  you  come  to  write  the  longer  subjects 
you  will  find  them  surprisingly  easy.  The  most  difficult  story  to 
write  is  not  the  three  reel  story  but  the  three  hundred  foot  farce 
with  a  real  plot. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

ADAPTATIONS 

Adaptations  not  desired — studio  staff  is  better  equipped  to 
write  these  scripts  through  their  knowledge  of  just  what 
it  required — preparing  for  adaptation. 

There  is  practically  no  demand  for  the  adaptation  of  stories, 
plays,  songs,  poetry  or  historical  events  whether  the  originals  be 
protected  by  copyright  or  not. 

It  stands  to  reason  that  the  studio  writer  is  as  well,  if  not  bet- 
ter equipped,  technically,  as  yourself  and  that  you  can  offer  the 
studio  nothing  that  it  does  not  possess.  You  have  the  advantage 
over  him  only  when  you  offer  originality.  In  1909  we  wrote  an 
author  in  regard  to  the  situation  and  these  words  still  hold  good. 
We  said: 

"The  idea  of  asking  you  to  contribute  is  to  get  your  ideas.  We 
have  the  technique  here  in  the  studio,  but  we  cannot,  very 
naturally,  think  up  all  possible  plots.  We  can  think  of  only  such 
as  the  men  employed  are  capable  of  devising.  This  is  not  always 
enough  to  keep  the  directors  busy,  so  we  ask  your  help  and  are 
willing  to  pay  for  it,  but  we  want  your  ideas,  not  technique  alone. 
That  we  have. 

"It  stands  to  reason  that  the  staff  can  make  a  better  adaptation 
than  you  can.  We  know  what  we  have  in  the  way  of  outside  lo- 
cations and  what  the  scene  dock  has  and  what  can  be  made.  We 
know  the  costume  room  and  the  resources  of  the  property  man. 
You  might  hesitate  to  call  for  a  marble  terrace,  for  instance,  but 
we  would  write  in  several  because  we  know  where  we  can  bor- 
row a  country  estate.  Most  of  all,  we  know  our  people  and  just 
what  they  can  do." 

That  is  precisely  the  situation  today.  No  studio  staff  can  think 
of  all  the  ideas  and  so  they  are  willing  to  go  into  the  market  and 


ADAPTATIONS  125 

buy  ideas,  but  all  studio  staffs  possess  not  only  technique  but  an 
intimate  knowledge  of  the  resources  of  the  studio  and  the  capa- 
bilities of  the  players.  They  know  that  Miss  Blank  would  be  bet- 
ter in  Romeo  and  Juliet  than  in  As  You  Like  It,  because  she  does 
not  look  well  in  tights  and  that  while  Mr.  Dash  is  a  heart 
breaker  in  evening  clothes  or  well  tailored  business  suits,  he 
would  look  like  an  ass  playing  Romeo  or  Orlando,  so  they  will 
adapt  Romeo  and  Juliet,  but  they  will  write  Romeo  for  Mr. 
Twostar,  who  can  wear  romantic  dress  and  not  look  silly.  The 
outside  writer  would  try  and  fit  Dash  because  he  and  Miss  Blank 
generally  play  opposite  each  other. 

If  you  have  ideas  for  sale,  offer  them.  If  you  lack  ideas,  do  not 
seek  to  vend  the  ideas  of  another. 

But  it  is  to  be  supposed  that  some  of  the  students  of  photoplay 
seek  studio  positions  and  that  some  will  realize  their  ambition. 
Others  will  profit  through  making  adaptations  for  the  practice 
they  gain  in  technique,  and  for  their  benefit  a  few  suggestions  are 
offered. 

First  of  all,  study  the  book.  Read  it  over  several  times  until 
you  are  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  incidents  and  characters. 
Let  the  latter  become  as  real  to  you  as  flesh  and  blood  persons. 
Read  back  of  the  printed  lines  for  their  modes  of  thought  and 
their  emotions.  Note  each  incident  not  alone  by  itself  but  in  its 
relation  to  the  other  incidents.  You  will  probably  find  a  thread 
of  main  plot  and  one  or  more  side  issues.  Mark  which  each  is. 

Next,  mentally  or  on  paper,  arrange  the  incidents  in  chronologi- 
cal order.  It  is  seldom  that  a  novel  or  story  is  written  in  exact 
chronological  order,  but  a  play  must  follow  that  order  exactly. 

Perhaps  the  best  example  of  this  is  to  be  found  in  the  Vita- 
graph's  three-part  Tale  of  Two  Cities.  Dr.  Manette's  story, 
which  is  found  well  along  in  the  book,  Js  not  related  as  a  story, 
but  the  incidents  of  which  the  story  treats  are  assigned  their 
proper  place  in  the  film. 

We  cannot,  as  in  fiction,  turn  back  in  the  middle  of  the  story 
to  relate  matters  that  happened  before  the  first  chapter.  If  Geral- 
dine  is  not  the  daughter  of  the  wealthy  'Samuel  Sinclair,  but  a 
foundling  left  at  his  door  one  stormy  night,  we  cannot  explain 
this  in  scene  nineteen,  where  Aubrey  Armstrong,  her  sweetheart, 
learns  for  the  first  time  of  her  origin.  It  might  be  put  in  with  a 
leader,  but  it  will  give  a  greater  dramatic  value  in  visualization 
if  we  know  all  along  that  the  child  is  a  foundling  and  are  sorry 
for  both  Aubrey  and  Geraldine,  so  first  show  that  dark  and 
stormy  night  no  matter  where  the  author  places  the  incident.  A 
photoplay  should  be  like  a  calendar  with  each  day  in  its  proper 


126  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

place.  We  cannot  move  Christmas  over  into  May  or  bring  Easter 
down  to  the  Fourth  of  July. 

Having  arrayed  these  facts  in  proper  sequence,  throw  out  all 
that  do  not  actually  advance  the  main  plot  and  see  if  you  have 
enough  action  left.  See  also  that  the  main  plot  is  not  too  de- 
pendent on  the  side  action.  If  more  action  is  needed,  add  some 
of  the  other  material.  Do  not  try  to  get  in  all  that  the  author 
got  in  merely  because  he  did  get  it  in.  Make  your  great  aim  to 
get  the  story  down  complete  without  regard  to  the  padding  or 
the  literary  style.  You  are  concerned  only  with  the  main  story. 
If  you  can  get  that  all  down  it  is  sufficient. 

In  adapting  plays  the  process  is  much  the  same.  The  action  is 
divided  into  scenes  and  acts,  but  it  may  be  that  a  single  sentence 
in  the  dialogue  of  the  last  act  will  indicate  a  scene  in  the  early 
part  of  the  photoplay  or  even  a  succession  of  scenes. 

In  the  earlier  version  of  this  book  we  used  the  hunting  scene, 
spoken  by  Lady  Gay,  in  London  Assurance,  as  an  example  of  the 
fact  that  the  visualized  drama  presents  greater  opportunities  than 
the  stage  play.  This  time  we  can  point  to  the  Reliance  production 
in  support  of  the  statement. 

Poems  and  songs  lend  themselves  to  broader  treatment  as  a 
rule  and  permit  or  even  require  the  interpolation  of  other  scenes 
and  incidents  to  supplement  the  rather  meagre  plot  that  can  be 
conveyed  in  brief  verse.  The  Selig  production  of  Sally  in  Our 
Alley,  adapted  from  the  song  of  that  name  by  Miss  Hetty  Gray 
Baker,  is  a  case  in  point.  There  was  little  to  the  song-poem. 
Miss  Baker  supplied  her  own  plot  and  sold  it  to  Selig  from  the 
outside.  To  all  practical  purposes  it  was  her  own  play,  though 
carrying  a  song  title.  On  the  other  hand  the  same  company's 
The  Vagabonds  was  a  straight  adaptation  of  that  poem  and 
probably  would  not  have  been  purchased  from  an  outside  con- 
tributor. 

Each  studio  employs  one  or  more  men  whose  knowledge  of 
classic  and  current  literature  is  at  least  as  extensive  as  your  own. 
Do  not  try  to  sell  your  literary  knowledge  to  them  either  as 
adaptation  or  original  work.  If  you  do  Romeo  and  Juliet  in 
modern  dress,  give  it  some  modern  twists  to  go  with  the  new 
dressing. 


THE  TALKING  PICTURES  127 


CHAPTER  XXI 
THE  TALKING  PICTURES 

How  they  are  made — the  limitations — timing   the  picture — 
range  of  subjects — their  future. 

This  little  book  is  intended  for  the  man  who  writes  photoplays 
and  the  talking  picture  does  not  properly  lie  within  the  scope  of 
this  volume,  but  a  few  words  on  the  subject  will  lead  to  a  better 
understanding  of  the  situation  and  its  relation  to  the  photoplay  or 
silent  drama. 

The  talking  picture  is  no  more  than  a  sketch  or  play  reproduced 
by  means  of  motion  pictures  and  the  phonograph  working  in 
synchrony,  that  is,  the  phonograph  says  "Curse  you,  Jack  Dalton" 
at  the  same  moment  that  the  pictures  show  the  player  enunciat- 
ing these  words.  That,  at  least,  is  the  theory,  but  in  practice  it 
frequently  happens  that  the  phonograph  is  ahead  of  the  picture  or 
vice  versa. 

Thomas  A.  Edison  is  not  the  inventor  of  the  talking  picture, 
nor  does  he  claim  to  be,  but  his  perfection  of  the  phonograph  for 
use  in  connection  with  his  form  of  the  device  enables  the  record 
to  be  made  at  the  same  time  that  the  picture  is.  In  many  forms 
the  record  is  first  made  close  to  the  horn  and  then,  while  the 
record  is  run  off  the  players  again  repeat  the  speeches  while  they 
are  photographed. 

At  the  time  this  chapter  is  written  certain  mechanical  difficul- 
ties confront  the  maker  of  talking  subjects.  Perhaps  the  most 
important  is  the  limited  duration  of  the  phonograph  record,  neces- 
sitating the  breaking  of  scenes  on  the  stoppage  of  one  record  and 
starting  fresh  on  the  next  where  the  scene  runs  longer  than  the 
six  minutes  that  the  record  runs.  Various  schemes  are  being 
tried,  but  with  this  we  have  nothing  to  do,  our  interest  lying  on 
the  play  and  not  the  mechanical  side. 

For  a  time  at  least,  the  scenes  of  the  talking  picture  must  be 
held  indoors,  because  of  the  weight  of  the  apparatus  and  the  at- 
tention it  would  attract  on  the  street. 

Talking  pictures  are  written  precisely  like  any  other  stage  play 
since  the  talking  picture  is  precisely  that,  but  as  a  rule  the  action 
or  stage  directions  are  written  in  more  fully  than  with  the  drama 


128  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

of  the  stage,  since  the  action  must  be  figured  with  the  speech  in 
writing  the  play  to  an  exact  measurement  of  time  and  film. 

Some  of  the  productions  are  confined  to  one  scene  and  six 
minutes,  and  others  run  up  to  five  hundred  or  one  thousand  feet. 
If  the  author  desires  to  try  his  hand  at  the  talking  picture  script 
he  should  first  advise  with  the  companies  as  to  length. 

Dialogue  is  no  more  than  speech  written  down,  the  speech  of 
every-day  life.  It  is  on  this  point  that  the  average  stage  dramatist 
fails  at  the  start.  He  seeks  to  produce  dialogue  that  will  read  well 
rather  than  that  which  can  be  spoken  naturally  and  convincingly. 
He  ventures  as  closely  as  he  may  dare  to  the  blank  verse  of 
Shakespeare.  The  real  dramatist,  to  the  contrary,  strives  to  re- 
produce as  closely  as  possible  the  speech  of  every  day  life.  It  is 
not  necessary  to  use  flowery  phrases  and  rounded  pauses.  Say: 
"Please  hand  me  that  glass  of  water,"  rather  than :  "I  pray  thee 
give  me  drink." 

Remember  that  dialogue  on  the  stage  is  spoken  a  trifle  more 
slowly  because  of  the  need  of  clear  enunciation,  nowhere  more 
important  than  in  the  making  of  phonograph  records,  and  allow 
for  this  in  judging  the  length  to  which  the  dialogue  will  run. 
Make  full  allowance  for  the  business  and  by-play  and  remember 
that  even  in  a  sustained  conversation  there  will  be  a  pause  of  a 
part  of  a  second  between  speeches. 

Few  characters  should  be  employed  and  no  effort  may  yet  be 
made  to  produce  mob  scenes.  Have  the  character  drawings  clean 
cut  and  accurate,  do  not  have  all  of  your  people  talk  in  the  same 
general  way.  Give  personality  to  their  speech  as  well  as  to  their 
actions  and  apparent  modes  of  thought. 

For  a  time,  at  any  rate,  only  the  advanced  writers  can  hope  for 
any  marked  degree  of  success. 

Talking  Pictures  are  more  important  to  the  photoplay  writer 
because  of  their  supposed  influence  upon  the  silent  drama. 

It  is  not  probable  that  talking  pictures  will  seriously  affect  the 
photoplay  proper,  for  the  chief  charm  of  the  photoplay  lies  in  its 
condensation  of  action.  In  the  quickness  of  movement  that  per- 
mits a  reasonably  full  story  to  be  unfolded  in  twenty  minutes  of 
action. 

It  was  this  quality  which  gave  it  its  advantage  over  the  stage 
drama  as  much  as  the  cheaper  price  of  admission.  One  may  wit- 
ness three  plays  within  an  hour,  though  those  same  plays  might 
require  two  or  three  hours  for  presentation  were  it  necessary  to 
speak  all  of  the  dialogue.  A  gesture  may  often  replace  a  page 
speech  and  a  situation  show  more  than  minutes  of  dialogue  could 
tell.  It  is  not  probable  that  this  condensation  of  action  will  be  re- 
placed by  the  talking  picture,  which  has  as  its  advantage  over  the 


COPYRIGHT  AND  THE  COPYRIGHTED  STORY     129 

drama  of  the  stage  only  the  fact  that  players  of  greater  merit 
can  be  employed  in  the  parts  since  the  presentation  has  to  be 
made  but  once. 

Against  this  advantage  there  are  so  many  disadvantages  to  be 
considered,  that  it  is  highly  probable  that  the  talking  and  silent 
pictures  will  have  little,  if  anything  in  common. 

The  talking  picture  lacks  the  element  of  condensation,  it  can- 
not be  used  as  universally  as  the  photoplay,  since  it  will  appeal 
only  to  those  who  can  understand  the  language  spoken,  and  it  will 
be  a  long  time  before  the  mechanical  difficulties  can  be  overcome. 

Certain  alarmists  affect  to  see  in  the  talking  picture  'the  doom 
of  the  photoplay,  but  most  experienced  observers  are  agreed  in 
the  belief  that  the  talking  pictures  can  do  the  photoplay  little  or 
no  harm  either  in  the  present  or  at  some  future  time.  Undoubted- 
ly the  talking  pictures  will  be  brought  to  a  greater  point  of  per- 
fection as  time  passes  and  will  become  a  regular  form  of  theatri- 
cal amusement,  either  by  themselves  or  in  the  vaudeville  theaters, 
or  both,  but  it  is  highly  improbable  that  they  will  prevent  or  even 
appreciably  retard  the  advance  of  the- silent  drama.  It  will  be 
more  interesting,  perhaps,  to  both  see  and  hear  a  Bernhardt  in 
Camille,  but  many  will  prefer  a  Camille  lasting  perhaps  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  to  a  performance  continuing  for  three  hours. 

Talking  pictures  may  supplement,  but  they  can  never  supplant 
the  photoplay. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

COPYRIGHT  AND  THE  COPYRIGHTED  STORY 

What  copyright  is — what  protection  afforded — manuscript 
not  copyrightable — what  may  and  may  not  be  taken  from 
the  copyrighted  story. 

Probably  no  question  is  more  frequently  asked  by  the  novice 
than  just  how  far  it  is  possible  to  go  in  using  the  material  of  a 
story  protected  by  copyright. 

Sometimes,  indeed  most  often,  the  question  seems  to  be  asked 
in  all  sincerity,  but  all  too  often  the  question  is  phrased  so  clearly 
that  it  reads.  "Just  how  far  may  I  proceed  in  stealing  the  work 
of  another  brain  and  get  away  with  it?" 

The  answer  in  either  case  is  simple.  You  may  derive  inspira- 
tion but  not  material,  from  the  work  of  another.  Just  what  in- 


130  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

spiration  means  is  a  matter  between  you  and  your  conscience, 
since  it  is  not  easy  to  draw  an  exact  line  that  may  not  be  crossed. 

Suppose  that  you  read  a  story  of  a  girl  who  has  married  the 
wrong  man.  He  treats  her  brutally.  She  shoots  him,  not  alto- 
gether in  self-defense.  The  purpose  of  the  book  is  to  argue  that 
a  .32  bullet  for  the  man  is  better  than  an  arsenic  tablet  for  the 
woman. 

If  you  write  of  a  woman  who  marries  the  wrong  man  and 
shoots  him,  you've  taken  too  much  from  the  story.  Suppose  you 
argue  that  she  should  have  left  him,  should  have  tried  harder  to 
reform  him  or,  in  short,  anything  but  killing  him.  The  further 
you  get  away  from  the  story,  the  safer  you  are  from  a  charge  of 
theft.  You'll  probably  stay  within  the  legal  rights.  But  suppose 
that  this  story  gave  you  the  idea  of  a  similar  match  in  which  the 
birth  of  a  child  drove  the  pair  still  further  apart  but  its  death 
united  them. 

In  such  a  case  you  can  take  your  check  with  a  clear  con- 
science, for  you  have  not  stolen  the  idea.  You  have  merely  given 
an  impetus  to  your  own  imagination  through  reading  the  product 
of  another  imagination.  That,  perhaps,  is  the  surest  test.  If  you 
work  your  imagination  and  direct  it  rightly,  you  have  produced 
instead  of  copying. 

You  can  take  the  star.t  or  the  finish  or  perhaps  take  a  part  of 
the  middle  and  use  it  for  a  start.  Once  you  have  a  start,  if  you 
possess  imagination,  the  rest  is  easy,  but  if  you  have  no  imagina- 
tion you  cannot  write  photoplays  and  it  is  useless  to  try  and  be- 
come a  literary  burglar  because  your  sins  will  find  you  out. 

There  is  a  commercial  as  well  as  moral  side  to  this  matter.  You 
may  be  able  to  sell  a  few  stolen  stories  but  you'll  soon  become 
known  for  a  thief  and  have  that  reputation  precede  you  into 
studios  you  never  visited.  More  than  one  promising  career  has 
been  wrecked  by  taking  too  much  inspiration. 

If  the  above  paragraphs  do  not  apply  to  you,  they  are  not 
meant  for  you,  but  so  many  take  up  photoplay  without  previous 
literary  experience  that  it  seems  to  be  necessary  to  lay  down 
these  facts  with  seemingly  undue  emphasis  for  the  benefit  of 
a  few. 

Now  for  copyright  itself.  If  you  have  produced  a  play,  a  book, 
a  lecture,  a  painting,  a  song,  a  statue,  a  drawing,  a  map,  or  a  de- 
sign and  fear  to  publish  the  same  lest  others  copy  your  idea, 
the  government  says  in  effect :  "Go  ahead  and  dedicate  your  work 
to  the  public,  then  give  a  copy  to  the  Register  of  Copyrights.  If 
John  Smith  reproduces  your  work  he  will  have  to  stop  it  and  give 
you  all  the  money  he  has  made,  because  we  have  enacted  a  set  of 


COPYRIGHT  AND  THE  COPYRIGHTED  STORY    131 

laws  to  that  effect.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  register  your  work 
to  give  notice  that  this  is  what  you  claim  protection  for." 

Now  you  can  give  your  work  to  the  world  through  publication, 
and  if  anyone  infringes  your  rights  you  have  a  clean  cut  set  of 
laws  exactly  defining  your  rights,  but  first  you  must  publish  that 
work  or  "dedicate  it  to  the  public"  as  the  law  reads,  and  next 
you  must  give  to  the  copyright  office  one  or  more  copies,  accord- 
ing to  the  classification  of  the  article,  and  say  in  effect  "This  is 
what  I  claim  protection  for." 

If  you  claim  the  copyright  protection  without  registering  the 
article  then  you  not  only  have  no  protection,  since  you  cannot 
prove  in  law  that  you  wanted  to  protect  it,  but  you  are  liable  to  a 
fine  for  having  claimed  copyright  without  having  actually  copy- 
righted the  article. 

You  can  copyright  a  book,  because  you  have  printed  that  in 
copies  for  sale,  but  you  cannot  copyright  the  manuscript  of  a 
book  because  that  is  not  offered  to  the  public  but  is  offered  to  a 
publisher  in  the  hope  that  he  will  print  it  and  offer  it  to  the  public 
for  you. 

Your  status  is  precisely  that  of  the  author  of  a  book.  If  you 
print  your  photoplay  and  offer  copies  for  sale,  you  can  claim  copy- 
right on  the  book  as  a  book  and  the  book  copyright  protects  you 
from  any  sort  of  infringement.  No  one  but  you  or  a  person 
authorized  by  you,  can  make  a  photoplay  production  of  that  pub- 
lished book.  If  you  photograph  your  story  you  can  copyright  it  as 
a  photoplay  either  as  "reproduced  in  copies  for  sale"  or  "not  re- 
produced in  copies  for  sale,"  and  no  one  can  make  a  photoplay 
from  your  script  or  turn  it  into  a  book  or  a  dramatic  play.  But 
until  you  have  published  that  photoplay  either  as  a  printed  book 
or  a  photographic  film,  you  are  not  entitled  the  protection  that 
is  offered  published  works. 

Mr.  Thorvald  Solberg,  the  Register  of  Copyrights,  is  one  of  the 
most  efficient  servants  in  Government  employ  in  that  he  is  con- 
stantly striving  to  give  the  fullest  and  most  complete  service  his 
department  can  be  made  to  afford.  Twice  he  has  urged  upon 
the  Congressional  Committee  that  the  manuscript  photoplay  be 
admitted  to  copyright;  not  that  he  feels  that  copyright  protection 
should  be  needed,  but  because  so  many  have  sought  it.  Each  time 
the  request  has  been  refused  and  probably  will  be  refused  by  suc- 
cessive Congresses  if  for  no  other  reason  than  that  the  unpub- 
lished manuscript  is  as  fully  protected  by  common  law  as  is  the 
published  work  by  Copyright  Law. 

Most  authors  seem  to  think  that  if  they  could  put  "Copy- 
righted" on  their  scripts  it  would  stop  possible  thieves.  Some  of 
them  do  announce  their  work  as  having  been  copyrighted  when 


132  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

they  know  perfectly  well  that  it  is  not  copyrighted,  thereby  ren- 
dering themselves  liable  to  punishment. 

It  is  one  of  the  kinks  of  the  law  that  if  you  announced  that 
your  story  was  copyrighted  and  then  went  into  court  with  a  suit 
it  would  be  thrown  out  under  copyright  law  because  it  was  not 
copyrighted  and  thrown  out  under  common  law  because  you  said 
that  it  had  been. 

In  any  case  all  copyright  means  to  you  is  that  you  can  sue 
under  a  definite  enactment  instead  of  common  law. 

Unlike  the  Patent  Office,  the  Copyright  Office  does  not  guar- 
antee against  the  registration  of  an  infringing  claim.  Two  or 
more  persons  may  register  the  same  book,  but  since  there  can  be 
but  one  legal  registration,  if  you  can  prove  that  you  are  the 
original  author  the  rights  lie  with  you,  only  you  must  go  to  court 
and  submit  to  the  usual  delays  and  adjournments  if  you  would 
prove  your  case. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

CENSORSHIP   OF  FILMS 

National  Board  of  Censorship — Police  Censorships — what  is 
forbidden,  and  why — when  crime  is  permissible. 

At  present  most  American-made  pictures  as  well  as  those  made 
abroad  and  released  on  regular  dates  are  submitted  to  the  Na- 
tional Board  of  Censorship,  which  is  in  no  sense  an  official  body, 
being  composed  of  delegates  from  the  various  civic  societies  form- 
ing The  People's  Institute,  of  New  York  City.  The  Board 
derives  its  sole  power  from  the  manufacturers  whose  films  are 
thus  submitted.  There  is  absolutely  nothing  to  prevent  the  dis- 
tribution and  exhibition  of  a  film  not  passed  by  the  Board  save 
the  common  sense  reason  that  experience  has  shown  that  a  pic- 
ture so  disapproved  will  be  stopped  by  the  police  in  many  cities, 
not  so  much  because  it  has  not  been  passed  by  the  Censors  as 
because  it  is  unsuitable  for  display  in  theaters  so  largely  fre- 
quented by  young  people. 

The  Board  was  brought  into  being  at  the  request  of  the  ex- 
hibitors of  New  York  City  and  has  been  maintained,  largely 
through  the  contributions  of  the  manufacturers  because  it  has 
been  found  that  the  Board  renders  valuable  service  in  checking 
ultra  sensationalism  that  eventually  must  react  against  the  maker 
of  such  films. 


CENSORSHIP  OF  FILMS  133 

If  you  will  notice  the  censorship  tag  you  will  see  that  it  states 
the  film  has  been  "passed''  by  the  Board.  At  the  start  some  manu- 
facturers used  a  tag  announcing  that  the  firm  had  been  "ap- 
proved" by  the  Board,  but  it  was  explained  that  the  Board  passed 
much  material  of  which  it  did  not  approve  and  the  wording  was 
changed. 

That  alteration  is  the  whole  story  of  the  Board.  It  aims  at  the 
highest  ideals,  but  it  passes  much  that  it  does  not  approve  of, 
since  the  material  is  not  vicious.  Its  rulings  and  suggestions  are 
as  liberal  as  is  consistent  with  common  sense  and  it  lays  down 
no  arbitrary  laws  but  seeks  rather  to  consider  the  act  and  the 
reason  rather  than  the  act  alone.  The  picturing  of  a  wanton 
crime  will  be  forbidden  where  precisely  the  same  crime  will  be 
passed  if  the  commission  of  that  crime  is  necessary  to  point  the 
lesson  that  crime  must  inevitably  find  its  punishment.  A  crime 
performed  in  a  moment  of  passion  is  more  apt  to  be  passed  than 
a  deed  done  in  cold  blood.  A  crime  suggested  may  be  passed 
where  the  crime  shown  in  detail  would  be  disapproved. 

In  general  the  Board  bars  from  stories  all  pictures  based  on 
crime  and  the  commission  of  crime,  all  immorality  and  immoral 
acts,  the  lewd,  the  lascivious,  the  vicious,  the  cruel,  the  irreverent 
and  the  irreligious.  But  while  these  factors  are  all  barred, 
many  of  them  may  be  used  if  done  with  proper  care  if  used  to 
point  a  moral,  lascivious  and  irreligious  themes  excepted.  These 
are  always  barred. 

If  Smith  shoots  Brown  in  cold  blood  to  get  the  money  that  he 
knows  Brown  carries  and  if  this  act  is  performed  merely  to  throw 
a  little  side  light  on  the  character  of  Smith,  the  deed  will  be 
barred.  Precisely  the  same  action  might  be  allowed  if  the  object 
was  to  show  that  having  killed  Brown,  Smith,  though  escaping 
the  law,  found  a  punishment  more  terrible  in  the  tortures  of  his 
own  conscience. 

But  it  is  not  probable  that  the  Board  would  pass  a  film  show- 
ing the  actual  murder,  because  it  is  not  necessary  to  show  this. 
It  is  sufficient  to  show  the  two  men  quarreling.  There  is  a  cut  to 
some  other  scene  and  we  come  back  to  Smith  standing  over 
Brown  with  a  smoking  revolver  in  his  hand. 

The  woman  who  wantonly  gives  herself  up  to  a  life  of  shameful 
pleasure  is  not  regarded  as  the  fit  subject  for  a  story  to  place  be- 
fore young  people.  The  woman  who  is  led  astray  and  who  re- 
pents and  is  forgiven  will  point  a  moral. 

It  is  best  to  avoid  the  underworld  and  the  higher  walks  of 
crime.  Saloons  and  other  places  of  evil  repute  should  not  be 
shown  or  else  shown  so  briefly  as  to  carry  small  effect.  Keep 
away  from  the  atmosphere  of  crime  and  debauchery  and  avoid 


134  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

as  much  as  possible  the  showing  of  fights,  burglaries,  or  any- 
other  infraction  of  the  laws.  The  juvenile  mind  is  receptive  and 
observant.  We  question  whether  they  learn  much  in  the  picture 
theaters  that  they  have  not  already  learned  outside,  but  it  is 
easier  to  blame  it  on  photoplays  than  anything  else  and  so  photo- 
plays have  come  in  for  an  undeserved  bad  name.  It  should  be 
the  aim  of  the  author  to  restore  the  good  name. 

If  you  write  clean  and  decent  stories,  you  do  not  have  to 
bother  about  the  Board  of  Censorship.  If  you  want  to  revel 
in  crime  and  bloodshed  you  must  be  careful  to  keep  the  actions 
of  your  character  within  the  unwritten  law.  And  mind  you, 
merely  because  you  say  that  your  moral  is  a  good  one  it  does  not 
follow  that  the  story  will  pass.  It  must  be  a  good  one. 

The  rulings  of  the  Board  are  given  on  the  first  print  of  the 
film  and  before  the  cut  negative  is  sent  to  the  printing  room. 
Therein  lies  the  value  of  the  National  Board.  It  helps  the  manu- 
facturer to  decide  just  what  will  pass  before  fifty  to  one  hundred 
prints  of  the  objectionable  parts  are  made.  After  the  prints  are 
made  and  distributed,  the  local  or  police  censorships  in  some 
cities  make  their  own  rulings  and  these,  being  made  by  persons 
less  well  qualified  to  judge,  may  result  in  all  crime  scenes  being 
cut  out  instead  of  merely  those  which  are  without  excuse.  There- 
fore, when  a  story  is  returned  to  you  with  the  statement  that  it 
will  not  pass,  it  may  mean  the  local  censorships  rather  than  the 
National  Board. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE   STOLEN    STORY 

Do  editors  steal  stories? — a  frank  discussion  of  a  question 
you  are  bound  to  ask — how  duplications  occur. 

Sooner  or  later — and  generally  sooner — every  author,  whether 
of  fiction  or  photoplay,  is  bound  to  ask  if  Editors  are  stealing  his 
stories.  No  matter  how  experienced  a  writer  may  be,  there  are 
bound  to  come  times  when  he  is  certain  that  his  stones  have  been 
stolen  by  some  studio  to  which  he  sent  it. 

Beyond  question  there  must  be  some  dishonest  employees  in  a 
business  so  large,  and  it  is  useless  to  argue  that  stories  are  never 
stolen,  but  on  the  other  hand  the  number  of  these  thefts  is 
negligible  and  in  a  greater  number  of  instances  the  charges  arc 
without  foundation. 


THE  STOLEN  STORY  135 

You  send  your  story  to  a  studio  and  it  comes  back.  Presently 
you  find  that  the  company  has  released  or  is  about  to  release  a 
story  identical  with  your  own.  You  are  certain  that  it  is  your 
own  and  you  talk  wildly  about  suits  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
It  may  be  that  an  Editor,  having  to  write  a  story  a  week  as  part 
of  his  contract  has  remembered,  consciously  or  sub-consciously, 
the  idea  of  your  story,  but  it  is  far  more  likely  that  the  Editor 
found  a  script  he  liked  and  put  it  in  work.  It  is  possible  that  you 
and  the  author  of  this  second  story  both  derived  inspiration  from 
the  same  source  and  that  the  other  did  his  work  in  better  fashion. 
His  story  was  taken  because  of  its  development  where  yours  was 
passed  over  and  forgotten.  We  have  seen  in  a  single  week's  batch 
of  stories  three  to  five  scripts  so  nearly  alike  that  they  might  all 
have  been  copied  from  a  common  source.  More  than  that,  per- 
haps two  or  three  more  came  in  the  next  week  and  the  next.  If 
any  one  of  these  stories  had  been  purchased,  possibly  fifty  other 
authors  would  have  cried  that  they  had  been  robbed.  They  make 
no  allowance  for  the  fact  that  the  idea  is  commonplace  and  likely 
to  suggest  itself  to  anyone.  They  know  only  that  their  story  is 
just  like  that  on  the  screen  except  a  few  scenes  where  the  Editor 
had  fixed  it  up.  And  that  it  just  where  the  answer  lies.  The 
"fixing  up"  was  done  to  the  same  idea  by  another  author  more 
careful  or  more  experienced  and  his  idea  sold  on  that  fixing  up. 

A  farcical  story  was  written  and  sent  direct  to  a  producer  in 
the  field  nearly  a  thousand  miles  from  the  studio,  the  work  being 
done  by  a  writer  a  hundred  miles  from  the  home  office.  The 
story  was  produced  and  immediately  another  writer  declared  that 
she  had  been  robbed  as  she  had  sent  that  story  to  the  studio 
some  time  before.  Investigation  showed  that  she  had  sent  such  a 
story  in  after  the  director  had  gone  south.  There  was  no  possi- 
bility by  which  the  other  author  or  the  director  could  have  seen 
this  script,  and  the  fact  was  explained  to  her,  but  immediately  she 
amended  her  complaint  to  add  the  charge  that  her  idea  had  been 
sent  the  other  author,  who  really  had  worked  over  one  of  his  old 
fiction  stories  written  and  published  about  eight  years  previously. 

Take  another  case.  A  scene  from  the  Solax  Spry  Spinsters  in 
which  a  spite  fence  was  introduced  suggested  to  a  writer  a  story 
written  wholly  about  a  spite  fence.  The  result  was  an  almost 
perfect  reproduction  of  Vitagraph's  Suing  Susan.  Had  the  story 
been  made  it  would  have  looked  suspicious,  to  say  the  least,  but 
a  vigilant  editor  caught  it  in  time. 

It  is  inconceivable  that  of  the  thousands  of  scripts  turned  out 
yearly  by  authors  many  of  whom  are  not  practised  hands  at  plot 
devising,  there  should  not  be  much  duplication  of  idea.  It  may 


136  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

be  that  your  idea  has  been  duplicated  by  another,  but  with  a 
better  technical  development,  so  that  the  other  is  taken  where 
yours  is  declined.  It  may  be  that  the  other  was  in  work  when 
yours  was  sent  back  and  that  the  Editor  did  not  advise  you  of 
this  fact. 

In  time  most  authors  encounter  a  duplicated  story  under  cir- 
cumstances that  make  it  impossible  that  their  idea  has  been  stolen. 
After  that  they  are  cured  of  this  hallucination,  but  few  are  im- 
mune from  an  attack  at  some  time  in  their  writing  experience. 

Give  the  Editors  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  The  probabilities  are 
that  they  are  without  blame  in  the  matter.  No  matter  what  the 
manager  of  the  picture  theater  may  tell  you,  or  the  man  who  used 
to  work  for  a  company.  The  chances  are  that  neither  knows  any 
more  about  it  than  you  do,  but  you  seem  to  want  to  have  your 
doubts  confirmed  and  it  is  easier  to  say  "Yes"  than  to  argue  "No." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

YOU  AND  THE   EDITOR 

A  few  hints  on  how  to  sell  to  advantage — your  attitude 
toward  the  editor — the  slight  value  of  personal  pull — 
querying  manuscript — lost  scripts. 

A  few  words  on  the  subject  of  your  intercourse  with  the  Editor. 

Most  editors  are  men  and  women  of  intelligence,  attainment 
and  good  breeding.  They  are  courteous,  helpful  and  conscientious. 
They  are  far  more  eager  to  buy  your  script  than  you  are  to  have 
them,  but  they  cannot  purchase  it  unless  it  comes  up  to  standard, 
and  they  cannot  spare  the  time  to  revise  your  script  when  others 
are  at  hand  that  wrill  require  much  less  work  and  present  an 
equally  good  idea. 

If  they  have  time  and  your  work  gives  promise,  they  will  fre- 
quently give  you  a  hint  or  perhaps  even  write  you  one  or  more 
letters  of  advice.  If  they  do  it  is  an  entirely  gratuitous  service 
for  which  they  are  not  paid  by  their  employer  and  which  is  gen- 
erally done  solely  for  the  purpose  of  helping  you  along. 

If  you  receive  a  letter  it  is  entirely  proper  to  return  a  brief 
note  of  thanks.  Do  not  fill  several  pages  with  gushy  thanks — and 
innumerable  other  questions.  Your  note  should  be  sincere  but 
brief.  If  the  editor  elects  to  reply  to  this,  let  that  letter  be  your 
guide,  but  never  seek  to  force  a  correspondence. 


YOU  AND  THE  EDITOR  137 

If  you  receive  a  script  without  message  of  any  sort  do  not  feel 
insulted.  Most  offices  use  a  rejection  slip  which  is  enclosed  with 
each  return,  but  in  some  offices  the  envelopes  are  given  to  an  office 
boy  to  fill  in  and  seal.  It  may  be  that  he  will  overlook  one  or  two 
and  yours  may  be  one  of  these.  If  your  script  is  returned  with- 
out any  printed  form,  you  can  guess  that  it  is  not  wanted,  and 
this,  after  all,  is  the  important  thing. 

You  may  take  positive  assurance  that  your  script  has  been  read 
by  some  competent  person;  not  through,  perhaps,  but  to  a  point 
where  the  reader  is  assured  that  it  is  not  suitable.  It  is  perfectly 
useless  to  ask  for  a  second  reading  or  to  write  and  ask  that  you 
be  informed  just  why  the  script  was  returned.  If  you  send  the 
script  it  will  not  be  read  again  and  if  you  do  not  send  the  script 
it  would  be  impossible  to  reply. 

Bear  this  one  fact  in  mind.  The  Editor  is  hired  by  his  em- 
ployer to  select  from  the  mass  of  stuff  sent  in,  the  stories  suitable 
for  the  use  of  that  studio  and  to  get  these  in  proper  form  for  the 
directors.  It  is  no  part  of  the  editorial  duties  to  instruct  you  in 
the  art  of  photoplay  writing  or  to  engage  in  an  extended  corres- 
pondence with  you  on  any  subject.  It  is  your  part  to  discover 
precisely  what  the  studio's  wants  are  through  a  study  of  the  films 
shown  on  the  screen  or  through  a  constant  study  of  the  synopses 
of  releases  published  each  week  in  THE  MOVING  PICTURE  WORLD. 

Few,  if  any  of  the  studios  now  receipt  for  stories,  but  if  you  de- 
sire a  receipt,  you  may  enclose  a  postal  card  with  the  request  that 
it  be  returned  to  you  as  soon  as  the  script  is  received.  The  best 
form  is  simply  worded,  something  like  this : 

Your  manuscript 

Loved  by  Another 
has  been  received  and  will  be  passed  upon  in  due  time. 

BLANK  FILM  COMPANY. 

This  is  not  a  receipt  in  the  legal  sense  for,  for  by  common 
usage  it  is  understood  that  a  studio  shall  use  due  care  in  hand- 
ling scripts  while  in  its  custody  but  that  it  is  not  responsible  for 
the  loss  of  a  story  in  transit  or  in  the  studio.  If  a  story  comes 
back  all  dirty  and  disfigured,  write  a  courteous  note  free  from 
complaint  or  sarcasm,  returning  the  script  and  setting  forth  the 
facts.  Most  studios  will  have  the  script  recopied  for  you  or  send 
you  a  copying  fee. 

If  you  get  no  action  on  your  story  in  six  or  eight  weeks,  send 
a  stamped  and  addressed  envelope  for  reply,  state  the  title  of  the 
story  and  date  sent  and  ask  if  it  has  been  lost  in  the  mail  or  being 
held  for  decision.  Take  it  for  granted  that  it  is  one  of  these  two 
reasons.  Do  not  ask  him  why  the  story  has  not  been  read  nor  hint 
that  you  are  starving  to  death  waiting  for  a  check. 


138  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

In  time,  if  you  can  obtain  no  reply  to  inquiries  and  feel  that 
there  is  no  use  waiting  any  longer,  write  a  note  of  this  tenor : 

BLANK  FILM  Co., 

SOMEWHERE,  N.  J. 
Dear  Sirs:— 

Being  unable  to  obtain  any  reply  to  my  inquiries  of  (here  give  dates  of  all 
letters)  I  beg  to  advise  YOU  that  I  shall  have  the  story  copied  and  sub- 
mitted elsewhere  and  shall  hold  you  strictly  responsible  for  any  use  you  may 
make  of  the  manuscript  in  your  possession. 

That  is  all  that  is  necessary.  Do  not  waste  your  energy  in 
"roasts"  and  save  your  sarcasm.  Send  this  by  registered  mail  to 
the  last  known  address  of  the  company.  It  is  well  to  show  the 
letter  to  some  other  person  and  to  register  the  letter  and  request 
that  a  receipt  be  returned. 

Do  not  send  in  the  synopsis  of  a  story  and  ask  the  Editor  if  he 
wishes  to  purchase  the  script.  He  cannot  tell  from  the  synopsis 
if  the  plot  of  action  will  be  good.  The  nearest  he  can  come  to 
judgment  will  be  the  supposition  that  if  you  know  how  to  write 
you  would  know  enough  to  send  the  full  script. 

Do  not  send  him  a  carbon  copy  to  read.  Many  beginners  send 
out  the  original  and  three  of  four  carbons  to  as  many  studios  in 
the  hope  of  getting  quick  action.  Two  or  more  companies  may 
start  production  at  the  same  time  and  send  you  checks,  with  the 
result  that  you  will  find  yourself  in  an  unpleasant  predicament. 
Have  only  one  copy  of  any  story  out  at  one  time  and  that  the  rib- 
bon copy.  If  it  gets  soiled  or  mussed,  make  a  fresh  ribbon  copy 
if  you  want  to  send  it  out  again.  Do  not  send  a  carbon  and  an 
excuse. 

Do  not  auction  off  your  script  by  sending  out  several  copies  to 
as  many  studios  with  the  statement  that  on  a  certain  date  the 
script  will  go  to  the  highest  bidder.  You  will  be  wasting  your 
stamps  and  spoiling  editorial  tempers. 

Do  not  dump  your  entire  string  into  an  office  because  you  have 
sold  one  script  there.  If  you  have  succeeded  in  getting  in,  aim  to 
stay  in  by  sending  only  your  very  best  work. 

More  than  one  writer  has  gained  a  start  by  selecting  a  particu- 
lar studio  and  sending  all  his  best  work  there,  but  only  his  best. 
It  may  all  come  back  but  the  repeated  submission  of  good  stuff 
will  have  its  effect  in  time.  Eventually  you  will  strike  their  fancy 
and  not  only  sell  but  keep  on  selling  because  they  will  know  that 
your  success  was  not  purely  an  accident.  Naturally  the  Editor 
would  prefer  to  deal  with  those  who  can  be  counted  on  to  keep  on 
sending  in  good  scripts. 


SELF-CRITICISM  139 

CHAPTER  XXVI 

SELF-CRITICISM 

Difficulties  of  self-criticism — lack  of  proper  perspective — in- 
terest in  the  subject — value  of  delayed  judgment. 

Even  the  most  expenienced  authors  are  not  fully  competent 
to  pass  their  own  work  in  review  and  this  is  one  of  the  reasons 
why  the  experienced  writer  is  content  to  submit  his  work  "at 
usual  rates."  He  knows  very  well  that  he  may  like  best  the  story 
that  will  make  the  least  appeal  to  others.  >He  lacks  the  proper 
perspective.  He  stands  too  close  to  his  own  work  to  see  the 
faults  and  the  merits  in  their  proper  value. 

It  stands  to  reason  that  one  does  not  develop  a  plot  unless  he 
thinks  that  plot  reasonably  good.  He  does  this  work  with  this 
idea  uppermost  and  it  follows  that  he  develops  the  plot  in  the 
manner  he  believes  to  be  the  most  suitable.  When  the  work  is 
done  he  may  set  it  down  with  the  feeling  that  it  might  be  im- 
proved, but  it  is  seldom  that  he  can  exactly  locate  the  trouble. 
This  chapter  is  not  offered  in  the  belief  that  self-criticism  can  be 
taught,  but  to  enable  the  author  as  nearly  as  possible  to  gauge 
and  value  his  work. 

The  great  essential  is  time.  It  is  not  possible  for  anyone  to 
remove  the  last  sheet  from  the  machine,  read  over  the  pages  and 
pronounce  it  to  be  good  or  bad.  The  glow  of  enthusiasm  must 
be  permitted  to  die  out,  other  work  must  be  done  to  erase,  in 
so  far  as  possible,  the  memory  of  the  story  and  then,  after  an 
interval  of  days  or  weeks,  the  script  should  be  taken  up  with 
the  mind  as  free  as  possible  from  the  recollections  of  that  story 
and  the  reasons  for  working  up  the  idea  as  was  done. 

It  is  a  poor  mother  who  does  not  think  her  baby  the  hand- 
somest and  best,  and  it  is  a  poor  author,  indeed,  who  does  not 
hold  his  brain  child  in  similar  esteem,  but  babies  may  be  weighed 
and  measured  in  comparison  with  established  tables  and  stories 
may,  to  some  extent,  be  compared  with  existing  standards. 

Do  not,  in  criticism,  regard  your  story  as  a  whole.  .Take  it 
apart  and  consider  each  factor  separately,  then  get  it  together 
again  to  see  that  the  adjustments  are  correct;  that  each  part 
bears  a  proper  relation  to  the  whole. 


140  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

The  best  way  is  first  to  dissect  the  plot  and  then,  with  the 
disjointed  plot  before  you,  consider  the  scenes  with  relation  to 
their  parts  of  the  plot  and  the  plot  as  a  whole. 

The  first  step,  then,  is  to  catalogue  the  various  incidents.  If 
you  will  turn  to  the  chapter  on  punch  you  will  see  that  there 
the  story  of  the  bank  clerks  is  dissected  into  factors.  In  order  to 
work  with  new  material,  suppose  that  we  take  Mr.  McCloskey's 
story  of  "Auntie's  Affinity,"  which  is  given  in  full. 

The  first  point  is  that  Ethel  lives  with  her  Aunt  at  the  hotel. 
The  second  is  that  she  is  in  love  with  Harry.  The  third  point 
is  that  Auntie  objects  to  Harry,  the  fourth,  that  Peitro  is  the 
chef  at  the  hotel,  and  so  on.  A  proper  tabulation  would  look 
something  like  this : 

Peitro  is  chef  at  the  hotel. 

Ethel  and  her  Aunt  live  at  the  hotel. 

Ethel  loves  Harry. 

Auntie  objects  to  Harry. 

Ethel  plans  to  take  a  clandestine  ride  with  Harry. 

Auntie  goes  out  alone  for  a  walk. 

She  meets  a  distinguished  stranger,  who  is  none  other  than 
Peitro. 

They  do  not  recognize  each  other. 

She  invites  Peitro  to  visit  at  the  hotel,  but  he  does  not  dare. 

She  makes  an  appointment  for  the  next  day,  which  she  keeps. 

Peitro  tells  her  that  he  is  a  Count. 

Peitro  proposes  and  is  accepted. 

Peitro  buys  the  ring. 

Peitro  loses  the  ring. 

It  falls  into  the  pudding. 

Ethel  finds  the  ring  in  her  portion  of  pudding. 

Ethel  reports  the  matter  to  the  office. 

Harry  investigates  and  Peitro  claims  the  ring. 

Auntie  is  horrified  to  discover  in  the  chef  her  Count. 

In  the  excitement  Harry  and  Ethel  elope. 

They  return  and  are  forgiven  by  Harry's  father. 

Peitro  returns  to  the  hotel  insisting  on  seeing  Auntie. 

Auntie  is  withholding  her  approval  of  Ethel's  marriage. 

Peitro  proves  himself  a  real  Count. 

In  her  delight  Auntie  forgives  Ethel  and  the  picture  closes. 

The  first  thing  that  strikes  us  is  the  excellent  and  orderly  ar- 
rangement of  the  incident.  Discarding  some  of  the  love  scenes 
between  Harry  and  Ethel  which  are  not  essential  to  the  main 
plot,  we  have  the  story  passing  from  one  point  to  the  other,  not 
only  in  chronological  order  but  in  the  exact  order  that  will  give 
the  greatest  comedy  value. 


SELF-CRITICISM  141 

That  is  the  first  point  to  be  looked  to.  Suppose  that  instead 
of  this  arrangement  we  had  excluded  from  the  original  draft 
those  scenes  showing  Peitro  in  the  kitchen.  This  would  have 
been  a  natural  move,  holding  back  the  discovery  of  Peitro's  oc- 
cupation until  scene  thirty-five,  that  the  audience  might  be  sur- 
prised. This  would  be  a  perfectly  natural  move,  most  especially 
to  the  beginner,  but  let's  think  it  over. 

If  we  had  not  shown  Peitro  in  the  kitchen,  we  would  have 
come  upon  development  number  seven  in  scene  sixteen  with 
Peitro  a  total  stranger  to  the  spectator.  Here  comes  a  new 
character.  Who  is  he?  We  do  not  know.  We  not  only 
wonder  who  he  is,  and  lose  interest  in  the  action  because 
we  are  busy  wondering,  but  we  lose  completely  the  comedy 
of  idea.  Knowing  that  Peitro  is  the  chef  in  the  hotel  in  which 
Auntie  is  a  guest,  the  meeting  at  once  becomes  big  with  pos- 
sibilities. Auntie's  encounter  with  a  distinguished  stranger  is 
not  one-tenth  as  amusing  as  the  idea  of  Auntie  discreetly  flirting 
with  the  chef  of  the  hotel. 

N'ote  well  how  the  author,  realizing  the  need  for  showing  that 
Peitro  does  not  fill  a  menial  capacity,  discloses  that  Peitro  is 
the  overlord  of  the  kitchen.  Peitro  is  the  czar  of  his  domain  and 
in  each  of  the  kitchen  scenes  this  fact  is  emphasized.  We  feel 
a  greater  interest  in  the  chef  than  in  the  dishwasher  and  it  is 
because  he  is  a  chef  and  not  a  dishwasher  that  he  is  a  possibility. 

So  this  schedule  of  incident  will  either  show  us  that  the  plot 
is  properly  developed  or  that  it  lacks  certain  treatment.  In  this 
bare  assemblage  of  facts  there  is  lacking  the  color  of  the  action 
and  we  can  study  the  skeleton  of  the  idea  and  make  certain  that 
the  bones  are  properly  articulated.  We  can  see  whether  or  not 
each  new  development  comes  into  the  story  in  its  proper  place  or 
not.  If  we  find  a  fact  misplaced  it  is  an  easy  matter  to  change  the 
schedule.  Suppose  that  we  had,  as  the  first  development,  that 
Peitro  was  a  real  Count,  the  scene  perhaps  showing  him  receiving 
the  notification.  A  glance  at  the  schedule  would  have  shown  that 
the  fact  that  he  really  was  a  count  was  out  of  place.  We  cannot 
get  the  surprise  for  the  climax  from  the  fact  that  he  is  a  chef. 
We  can  get  it  from  the  fact  that  he  really  is  a  count.  That 
fact  might  not  show  from  merely  reading  the  story,  but  once 
trained  to  develop  plots,  the  schedule  will  show  almost  at  a 
glance,  and  certainly  with  a  little  study,  whether  or  not  the 
factors  are  correctly  placed. 

Once  the  argument  is  properly  arranged,  take  the  scenes  each 
in  its  turn.  The  first  two  scenes  are  devoted  to  introducing  the 
characters.  Here  is  the  chef  of  the  hotel,  here  are  the  proprietor 
and  his  son  and  here  are  Aunt  Amanda  and  Ethel,  her  niece, 


142  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

guests  of  the  hotel.  Ethel  is  in  love  with  the  son.  Aunt  Amanda 
objects.  Peitro  is  first  introduced  because  Peter  Lang,  who  played 
the  part,  was  the  star  of  the  production,  otherwise  the  scene 
showing  the  kitchen  might  have  been  used  as  a  break  between 
the  present  two  and  four. 

About  scene  twelve  we  want  to  show  a  new  side  of  Peitro.  We 
will  take  him  out  of  the  kitchen  whites  and  show  him  in  street 
attire.  To  see  him  on  the  street  might  have  been  sufficient,  but 
scene  twelve  performs  two  services.  It  shows  the  change  in  the 
man  and  it  brings  him  into  sixteen  with  the  suggestion  of  the 
kitchen  still  fresh  in  mind.  At  first  glance  the  novice  might 
consider  that  scene  unessential  and  put  in  merely  to  fill  out  the 
picture,  but  it  will  be  seen  that  it  really  performs  two  important 
purposes. 

We  note,  too,  that  between  twelve  and  sixteen  there  are  two 
actions  carried  along;  the  ride  of  Harry  and  Ethel,  advancing 
their  love  affair,  and  the  walk  of  Aunt  Amanda.  In  the  time  re- 
quired to  show  these  brief  scenes  there  is  plenty  of  time  for 
Peitro  to  have  reached  the  park  for  his  encounter  with  Aunt 
Amanda.  To  take  him  out  of  the  kitchen  and  into  the  park 
would  have  been  too  abrupt,  but  by  filling  in  with  other  and 
essential  action  we  cover  this  lapse  of  time  while  holding  the 
interest  of  the  audience. 

We  have  under  discussion  a  correctly  planned  play,  one  that 
was  accorded  an  unusual  amount  of  praise  and  which  was 
selected  on  that  account,  but  in  examining  your  own  script  you 
will  probably  find  that  the  addition  or  subtraction  of  a  scene 
or  the  transposition  of  one  or  more  scenes  will  make  a  decided 
improvement  in  your  work  if  you  take  each  scene  by  itself  in 
relation  to  the  other  scenes  and  do  not  merely  read  the  story  as 
a  whole. 

The  story  should  lead  from  a  simple  incident  to  the  crowning 
incident  of  the  play  by  a  gradual  ascent.  The  outline  of  your 
story  should  suggest  an  inclined  plane  rather  than  the  profile  of  a 
roller  coaster  track.  If  you  find  that  you  have  too  much  sag, 
build  it  up,  if  an  early  scene  stands  out  too  strongly,  tone  it 
down  or  put  it  where  it  belongs.  In  dramatic  construction  it 
is  sometimes  planned  to  have  a  fall  in  the  dramatic  action  just 
before  the  climax,  but  it  is  better  in  photoplay  to  plan  the 
gradual  advance. 

There  is  a  third  factor  to  be  studied,  the  characters  themselves. 
Do  they  belong  in  the  story  and  do  they  fit  each  other?  Is  your 
heroine  -worthy  of  the  trouble  you  are  taking  in  her  behalf  ?  You 
cannot  get  your  audiences  interested  in  a  silly  little  fool.  Is 
your  hero  of  the  proper  sort?  No  one  cares  for  a  spineless  hero 


HOW  TO  STUDY  143 

who  crumples  up  before  the  attacks  of  the  villain  and  must  be 
rescued  by  the  heroine.  Are  the  subsidiary  characters  those  best 
suited  to  advance  the  plot  and  uphold  the  interest? 

If  your  story  will  stand  this  analysis  it  is  apt  to  be  a  good 
story,  but  in  order  to  study  the  plot,  the  scene,  or  the  character, 
it  will  first  be  necessary  to  separate  it  from  the  rest  of  the  play, 
to  first  consider  it  by  itself  and  then  in  relation  to  the  other 
factors.  If  you  can  do  this  work  carefully  and  without  prej- 
udice you  can  roughly  criticize  your  work  if  you  have  the 
knowledge  that  backs  your  judgment. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

HOW  TO  STUDY 

The   value    of   practice — need   for   study — the   theater    as   a 
school-room — self-criticism— the  value  of  advice 

This,  then,  is  the  technique  of  the  photoplay,  the  technique 
of  form,  of  construction,  of  creation.  The  rest  remains  with 
you. 

The  great  teacher  is  experience.  You  would  not  purchase  a 
text-book  on  electricity  and  after  a  single  reading  expect  to 
be  able  to  build  dynamos  and  motors,  to  wire  buildings  and  in- 
stall telephone  systems.  No  more  can  you  read  this  or  any 
other  book  through  and  expect  at  once  to  write  plays  that  will 
sell.  First  you  must  study  the  rule  and  then  learn,  through  ex- 
perience, to  apply  it. 

Do  not  think  that  it  is  sufficient  to  read  this  volume  through 
orce  or  even  many  times.  Study  it.  Absorb  every  fact  and  not 
the  fact  alone,  but  the  reason  for  that  fact.  In  the  school  room 
you  did  not  merely  glance  through  your  grammar.  You  studied 
the  rules  and  then  you  practised  the  application  of  those  rules, 
you  analyzed  sentences,  the  relation  of  each  word  to  the  others 
until,  at  the  end,  you  acquired  an  instinctive  application  of  the 
rules.  You  not  only  learned  to  speak  the  language  correctly, 
but  you  knew  why  you  were  correct.  It  is  the  same  way  with 
photoplay.  Having  the  rules,  you  must  learn  to  apply  them,  to 
pick  apart  plays  and  perceive  the  relation  of  the  scenes  to  each 
other. 


144  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Do  not  believe  the  misleading  statements  contained  in  the 
advertisements  of  self  styled  schools  which  declare  that  any 
boy  or  girl  can  learn  to  write  photoplays.  Give  no  heed  to  state- 
ments such  as  one  recently  to  hand  that  declared  that  one 
could  begin  to  write  photoplays  within  three  hours  after  re- 
ceipt of  instructions.  It  cannot  be  done.  A  reasonably  close 
study  of  a  script  will  enable  a  person  of  average  intelligence 
to  turn  out  something  that  is  in  the  form  of  a  photoplay,  but 
it  will  not  be  better  than  the  form. 

Writing  photoplays  is  as  much  a  fine  art  as  writing  the  drama 
of  the  stage  or  the  story  in  fiction  form.  The  rules  differ  and 
there  is  not  required  the  mastery  of  phrase  r.nd  literary  style  that 
are  demanded  of  the  other  forms,  but  this  is  offset  by  the 
need  for  being  able  to  write  in  action  so  clearly  that  this  action 
is  as  plain  and  understandable  as  the  written  word.  The  fact 
that  literary  style  is  not  required  does  not  also  excuse  the  lack 
of  inventiveness,  of  creative  ability,  of  originality  of  thought. 
These  are,  in  some  ways,  more  necessary  to  the  photoplay 
writer  than  to  the  fiction  writer,  since  the  latter  is  able,  to 
a  certain  extent,  to  hide  poverty  of  idea  behind  a  plausible  and 
fluent  expression.  Imagination  and  the  ability  to  direct  imagi- 
nation are  even  more  essential  to  the  photoplay  writer  than 
to  the  creator  of  fiction. 

Next  to  imagination,  the  most  important  requisites  are  patience 
and  persistence ;  patience  to  endure  the  labor  of  practise,  per- 
sistence to  enable  you  to  withstand  the  discouraging  failures  that 
will,  at  first,  confront  you.  It  is  disheartening  to  spend  days, 
perhaps  weeks,  even,  on  a  script,  only  to  be  told  that  the  idea 
has  been  used  before,  but  you  at  least  have  had  the  benefit 
of  the  practice  and  your  time  has  not  been  lost. 

Perhaps  the  most  unfortunate  thing  that  could  happen  to  you 
would  be  the  sale  of  your  first  two  or  three  scripts.  More  than 
one  promising  career  has  been  either  ruined  or  retarded  because 
the  first  few  scripts  sold  promptly. 

It  sometimes  happens  that  the  novice,  coming  fresh  to  the 
work,  may  have  one  or  more  ideas  so  good  that  the  editor 
overlooks  the  structual  faults  for  the  sake  of  the  uniqueness 
of  the  idea.  Suppose  that  this  happened  to  you.  You  would  not 
be  human  did  you  not  attribute  these  acceptances  to  your  skill 
and  not  to  chance.  You  promptly  conclude  that  writing  photo- 
plays is  even  easier  than  you  thought  and  you  sink  into  a 
careless  habit  of  rattling  off  your  ideas  without  any  examina- 
tion of  the  plot.  Everything  that  comes  to  you  is  an  idea. 
Promptly  it  goes  down  on  paper  in  hit  or  miss  fashion,  and  as 


HOW  TO  STUDY  145 

promptly  it  is  sent  out  to  some  studio.  After  a  while  the 
succession  of  rejections,  unrelieved  by  any  acceptances,  dis- 
courages you.  You  stop  work,  concluding  that  photoplays  do 
not  pay. 

If  yo'U  had  made  no  early  sales  you  would  have  been  ready  to 
face  the  failures  through  which  success  is  really  won,  but  these 
few  almost  accidental  successes  have  done  their  work  and  you 
are  not  willing,  once  the  rejections  commence,  to  face  the 
long,  hard  pull. 

Success  that  comes  quickly  is  seldom  lasting  nor  of  real 
value.  The  success  that  is  won  through  earnest,  persistent 
effort,  that  is  built  on  hard  work  and  labor  intelligently  directed 
is  the  kind  that  lasts  because  it  is  not  built  on  chance.  So  do 
not  be  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  sell.  'Be  prepared  to  serve 
your  apprenticeship  that  you  may  become  a  master  workman 
and  enjoy  a  master's  privileges. 

iDo  not  think  that  you  can  materially  shorten  this  apprentice- 
ship through  school  courses.  There  is  a  certain  amount  of 
drudgery  that  must  be  performed  before  you  can  qualify  and 
this  work  no  one  can  perform  for  you.  You  cannot  buy  success. 
There  is  only  the  school  of  experience  and  the  class  room  is  the 
motion  picture  theater,  but  you  must  regard  it,  for  the  time 
being,  as  class  room  and  not  as  a  place  of  amusement. 

If  you  had  spent  your  entire  life  a  hundred  miles  from 
navigable  water,  you  would  not  expect  to  be  able  to  build  a 
ship  or  even  a  rowboat  without  having  seen  one.  No  plans 
or  pictures  can  fully  replace  the  intimate  personal  knowledge  of 
thorough  examination.  It  is  the  same  way  with  photoplays.  You 
cannot  expect  to  write  them  without  some  familiarity  with 
the  screened  picture.  If  you  wanted  to  build  a  rowboat  you 
would  not  simply  look  at  it.  You  would  closely  examine  every 
detail  of  construction,  and  this  same  careful  examination  is 
required  before  you  can  really  know  motion  pictures. 

It  is  best  to  go  to  the  theater  alone  that  you  shall  not  be 
disturbed  by  the  comment  of  a  friend  and  look  on  the  picture, 
not  as  a  diversion,  but  with  much  the  same  spirit  as  that  in  which 
the  medical  student  approaches  the  dissecting  table.  Your  in- 
terest lies  not  so  much  in  what  appears  on  the  surface  as  what 
may  be  discovered  by  deeper  investigation.  Look  not  so  much  at 
the  picture  as  a  drama,  but  as  a  study.  Good  or  bad  it  will 
equally  well  repay  your  analysis. 

The  probabilities  are  that  you  are  reasonably  familiar  with 
motion  pictures  on  the  screen,  in  which  case  you  are  out  of 
the  kindergarten  and  ready  for  the  intermediate  course. 

Study,  to  apply  to  the  filmed  picture,  the  principles  here  laid 


146  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

down.  Note  the  resemblance  between  the  scenes  you  see  and 
the  examples  you  will  find  here.  Add  to  your  mental  classifi- 
cation what  you  see  on  the  screen.  Note  the  handling  of  the 
cut-back,  the  use  of  trick  work,  the  manner  in  which  the  story 
is  developed.  Educate  yourself  so  that  when  you  study  the  book 
you  can  add  to  the  examples  cited  many  more  from  the  plays 
you  have  seen. 

And  note  always  what  it  is  in  each  picture  that  makes  an  im- 
pression on  you.  You  like  this  picture.  What  was  it  that  you 
liked?  Was  it  the  acting?  Was  it  the  story?  Was  it  the 
production? 

Suppose  that  your  answer  is  that  it  was  the  acting.  What 
was  there  to  the  acting  that  won  your  regard?  Was  it  the 
personality  of  some  favorite  player?  Look  back  of  that  per- 
sonality and  see  if  you  can  see  how  the  story  cunningly  con- 
trived to  show  that  player  at  his  or  her  best.  Note  how  all 
the  situations  were  thrown  to  that  player  that  your  interest 
might  be  strengthened  in  the  character.  The  player,  no  matter 
how  good  he  or  she  may  be,  cannot  hold  your  interest  if  the 
play  is  not  well  planned.  You  think  for  the  moment  it  is  the 
acting,  but  you  will  find  that,  after  all,  it  was  the  well  written 
story;  so  well  written,  indeed,  that  you  lost  sight  of  the  tech- 
nique in  the  interest  you  felt  in  the  character. 

That  is  the  true  technique;  not  to  show  that  you  are  deliber- 
ately planning  to  throw  all.  the  interest  to  the  central  character, 
but  to  so  plan  the  plot  and  its  development  that  the  mechanism 
by  which  you  influence  is  not  apparent.  The  best  story  does 
not  say  "Look  at  Miss  Blank.  Isn't  she  lovely?  Isn't  she  charm- 
ing? Isn't  it  pathetic  that  she  must  give  up  Joe  and  marry  the 
rich  old  miser  to  save  him  from  bankruptcy?  See  how  we  make 
you  think  that  there  is  no  other  way,  and  now  look  how  we  have 
Joe's  rich  old  aunt  die  and  leave  him  all  her  money !"  That  is  not 
technique;  it  is  mechanics.  Technique  makes  this  same  appeal 
but  does  not  let  you  realize  that  the  appeal  has  been  made. 

Perhaps  it  really  was  the  acting.  Perhaps  the  personal  charm 
and  skill  of  the  players  was  superior  to  the  labored  development 
of  the  plot.  Here  too  you  may  learn,  for  you  can  see  how  the 
clumsy  use  of  incident  defeats  its  ends.  It  is  as  important  to 
known  what  makes  a  bad  story  bad  as  what  makes  a  good  story 
good. 

If  it  was  the  story  that  interested  you  more  than  the  acting, 
see  what  there  was  to  that  story  that  made  it  better  than  the 
playing.  Take  it  detail  by  detail,  incident  by  incident.  Set  each 
apart  by  itself  and  see  what  it  is  like,  then  put  it  together  again 


HOW  TO  STUDY  147 

and  see  what  there  was  in  the  construction  that  caused  these 
separate  incidents  to  form  a  complete  and  pleasing  whole. 

If  it  was  the  production  that  pleased,  see  how  much  the  author 
apparently  contributed  to  that  production.  The  production  was 
made  by  the  director,  but  it  was  made  from  an  author's  script. 
Try  and  figure  out  how  much  the  author  brought  the  producer. 

And  while  you  are  studying  plays  on  the  screen,  study  also 
the  stories  of  the  films  you  do  not  see.  You  cannot  witness  all 
of  the  produced  plays.  Get  what  you  cannot  see  on  the  screen 
from  the  MOVING  PICTURE  WORLD.  This  will  not  only  give  you 
the  stories  to  study,  but  in  a  general  way  you  will  gain  an  idea 
of  what  each  company  wants  from  what  it  is  doing,  and  later 
on  the  knowledge  of  what  has  been  done  will  aid  you  in  avoiding 
the  theme  already  used. 

Having  become  familiar  with  the  screened  story  and  with  the 
terms  and  forms,  you  are  ready  for  the  next  step.  Select  some 
theater  where  two  or  more  performances  are  given  each  evening 
and  sit  through  the  bill  twice.  The  first  time  note  the  story.  The 
second  time  decide  which  of  the  plays  has  made  the  strongest,  im- 
pression on  you  and  note  all  the  scenes  of  this  play.  Just  a 
word  or  two  will  enable  you  to  recall  the  scene.  Put  down  no 
more  than  is  necessary. 

Now,  at  home,  try  to  write  that  play,  partly  from  memory  but 
with  the  notes  to  assist  you.  Make  the  full  plot  of  the  action 
precisely  as  though  it  was  an  original  story  you  intended  to  write 
and  submit  to  some  studio.  Write  in  the  action  precisely  as 
though  you  were  writing  the  business  of  a  new  play.  Put  in  the 
leaders  and  the  letters  just  as  clearly  as  you  can  remember  them. 
Now  write  the  synopsis  and  cast  of  characters.  You  have  a 
complete  script  from  which  you  may  make  a  careful  analysis  of 
the  development. 

Recall  as  clearly  as  possible  the  points  that  made  the  deepest 
impression  on  you  when  you  first  saw  it.  Think  of  how  this 
scene  thrilled  you  with  fear,  of  how  that  one  brought  a  smile 
to  your  face  and  that  other  put  a  lump  in  your  throat.  The 
reason  for  all  these  emotions  is  down  on  that  paper  in  black  and 
white  if  you  have  done  your  work  well.  The  secret  of  the  sob 
is  clear,  the  reason  for  the  smile  is  made  plain.  You  have  a  clear 
insight  into  the  mechanics  of  creating  emotion. 

But  there  is  one  thing  that  may  not  appear  as  clearly  on  the 
paper.  You  do  not  clearly  see  the  punch,  the  reason  why  you 
liked  that  play  so  much  better  than  the  others  you  saw  at  the 
same  time.  You  should  find  the  visible  punch  if  you  will  look 
for  it,  but  you  will,  in  time,  find  something  else.  What  that  is  no 


148  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

one  can  tell  you.  You  cannot  tell  yourself  what  it  is.  It  has 
never  'been  put  into  words  and  it  never  will  be,  but  if  you  are  ever 
going  to  make  a  story  writer  you  will  find  that  something  in  this 
study  of  the  story  that  enables  you  to  write  plays. 

It  cannot  be  analyzed  and  it  cannot  be  described,  but  it  is  an 
ability  to  sense  the  story;  to  look  past  the  action,  past  the  tech- 
nique, past  the  plot  and  past  the  punch  itself  and  see  the 
soul  of  the  story.  To  some  people  it  is  never  given  to  gain  this 
sense,  to  some  it  comes  only  after  long,  arduous  labor.  Some 
are  born  with  it,  some  have  it  partly  developed  and  need  but  a 
little  work. to  bring  it  out,  but  no  matter  how  it  conies,  that 
instinctive  sensing  of  the  story  is  what  makes  the  real  author ;  is 
what  marks  the  difference  between  the  playwriter  and  the  person 
who  merely  performs  the  mechanical  labor  of  writing  a  play. 

But  perhaps  even  before  this  comes  to  you  you  will  be  ready 
to  go 'on  to  the  next  step.  Instead  of  merely  studying  the  work 
of  others,  study  to  improve  their  work.  You  have  the  script 
before  you.  Mentally  redevelop  it.  See  if  you  cannot  better  the 
situations  by  changing  the  relation  of  the  scenes  or  by  discarding 
certain  of  the  scenes  and  using  others  in  their  place.  There  never 
was  a  story  produced  that  could  not  be  improved  upon.  Study 
to  see  how  you  may  improve  the  work  on  the  plays  you  have  seen, 
for  this  will  bring  a  keener  insight  into  the  development  of  the 
plot  than  the  mere  study  of  the  plotting  of  another. 

Study,  too,  to  improve  the  leaders.  Improving  does  not  neces- 
sarily mean  the  cutting  down  the  number  of  words.  You  may 
add  a  couple  of  words  and  get  an  easy,  fluent  leader  instead  of  a 
harsh,  disjointed  one.  Do  the  same  with  the  letters.  See  if  you 
cannot  make  them  sound  more  like  real  letters.  Note  where  a 
paragraph  from  a  letter  might  have  been  used  with  better  effect 
than  one  purporting  to  be  an  entire  letter.  See  when  the  opening 
or  closing  paragraph  would  be  better  than  one  from  the  body  of 
the  sheet. 

And  all  this  time,  it  is  to  be  supposed,  you  are  working  on 
your  own  plots.  Work  them  into  rough  photoplay  form.  Write 
and  rewrite  them  unless  you  find  that  the  story  grows  worse  with 
each  revision.  Writers  may  be  roughly  assembled  into  two 
classes ;  those  who  work  best  on  the  first  draft  and  those  who  do 
better  on  revise.  Do  not  mistake  laziness  for  an  inability  to 
revise,  but  on  the  other  hand,  do  not  work  too  long  on  a  story 
if  you  find  you  do  not  improve  it.  Lay  it  aside  and  take  it  up 
again  weeks  or  even  months  later. 

Now  you  are  ready  to  do  more  original  work  and  less  copy. 
You  have  learned  not  only  the  form  but  the  application  of  form 
to  idea  from  your  work  on  the  plays  of  others.  Now  apply 


HOW  TO  STUDY  149 

form  to  your  own  ideas  with  the  intention  of  selling  your  product. 
In  their  proper  chapters  the  various  processes  of  plot  formation 
and  development  are  described  in  detail.  Work  along  those 
lines  unless  you  chance  upon  a  method  that  suits  you  better. 

Do  not  trust  too  much  to  the  criticism  of  your  friends.  They 
mean  well,  but  they  may  not  know,  and  the  possession  of  college 
degrees  is  no  evidence  of  ability  to  criticize  photoplay.  One  of 
the  worst  scripts  that  ever  came  under  the  observation  of  this 
writer  was  the  work  of  a  professor  of  English  literature  in  one 
of  the  largest  colleges  of  the  country.  His  knowledge  of  litera- 
ture was  profound,  his  English  was  classical  in  its  purity,  but  he 
did  not  know  photoplay.  The  minister,  the  teacher,  the  news- 
paper man  and  the  lawyer  may  each  be  learned  in  his  profession 
and  yet  their  opinion  of  your  manuscript  be  infinitely  less  worth 
while  than  the  judgment  of  the  grammar  school  boy  who  is  an 
ardent  "fan." 

If  you  have  made  proper  advance  you  are  now  able  to  visualize 
your  action,  to  turn  the  printed  word  into  motion,  but  you  have 
this  one  drawback.  You  know  the  story  you  have  written,  and 
you  cannot  be  certain  that  you  have  put  all  of  the  story  into  the 
plot  of  action.  You  may  read  it  a  dozen  times  and  each  time 
supply  some  missing  point  from  your  memory  of  the  story  and 
think  it  is  in  the  script.  You  know  that  John  does  this  because 
of  some  other  action.  You  do  not  realize  that  the  explanatory 
action  is  missing.  Get  someone  to  go  over  it  for  you.  Encourage 
them  to  ask  questions  and  do  not  grow  angry  if  they  do. 

Write  as  much  as  you  can,  but  do  not  try  to  market  all  you 
write.  Send  out  only  the  best,  retaining  the  rest  to  work  over.  If 
you  cannot  better  a  story  by  editing  and  revision,  lay  it  aside 
until  you  have  done  at  least  two  others  and  the  incidents  of  the 
first  are  less  clear  in  your  mind.  Now  read  your  synopsis  and 
1  mentally  plot  it  afresh,  writing  the  new  action  without  reference 
to  the  old.  Now  compare  the  two.  You  are  apt  to  find  some 
improvement.  If  you  keep  at  it  long  enough  you  will  get  the 
story  right  in  time. 

As  you  study  and  learn  from  your  failures  you  will  come 
to  find  that  sometimes  the  story  may  be  all  right  but  the  handling 
is  wrong.  At  times  you  will  find  that  to  give  the  most  important 
position  to  the  woman  instead  of  the  man  or  vice  versa,  will  be 
to  give  the  story  the  right  twist.  Again  you  may  find  that  your 
hero  is  a  doctor  instead  of  a  lawyer,  or  perhaps  a  clerk  instead 
of  his  employer.  One  story  was  rejected  eight  times  but  sold 
the  ninth  because  on  the  last  trip  the  hero  was  an  insurance  agent 
instead  of  a  theatrical  manager.  The  theatrical  manager  did  not 
fit  into  the  rest  of  the  story.  The  insurance  agent  did. 


150  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Never  throw  away  an  idea.  Even  if  you  are  told  that  the  theme 
has  been  used  before,  do  not  discard  the  story.  There  may  be 
something  good  in  the  arrangement  or  business  that  you  can  use 
with  another  theme. 

There  is  just  one  secret  of  success  and  that  is  work,  hard 
faithful  work  intelligently  directed.  Every  man  who  today  en- 
joys success  has  at  one  time  stood  where  you  are  standing  now. 
Every  Editor,  every  photoplaywright  has  at  one  time  been  a 
novice,  has  met  the  trails  and  disappointments  of  the  beginner, 
has  overcome  the  obstacles  and  fought  his  way  to  success  through 
work.  There  is  not  a  man  in  the  business  who  will  not  ascribe 
•his  success  to  hard  work  if  he  is  entirely  honest.  A  few  of  us 
came  up  from  the  start  of  motion  pictures  and  progressed  so 
gradually  that  the  amount  of  effort  was  not  realized,  but  even 
those  who  were  in  the  business  in  the  old  fifty-foot  days  and 
who  progressed  with  the  business  have  worked,  but  have  spread 
over  ten  or  fifteen  years  the  work  you  may  accomplish  in  one 
or  two. 

This  is  one  point  wherein  you  may  receive  no  help  from  an- 
other. No  one  can  do  your  work  for  you,  no  matter  how  much 
you  are  willing  to  pay,  and  no  one  can  think  for  you  nor  teach 
you  to  think.  It  is  entirely  your  own  effort  that  will  bring  you 
success,  but  your  success  will  be  the  sweeter  because  it  has  been 
hardly  won.  You  may  be  able  to  think  quickly,  to  use  your 
imagination  intelligently  and  so  make  more  speedy  progress  than 
another,  you  may  even  gain  some  measure  of  success  for  a  time 
with  no  very  great  amount  of  labor,  but  no  matter  how  quick  you 
may  be  to  adapt  yourself  to  conditions  and  produce  for  a  time 
plots  that  will  please,  in  the  end  you  will  find  that  there  is  but 
one  foundation  for  a  real  and  lasting  success  and  that  is  hard 
work.  Don't  cheat  yourself  by  shirking.  If  you  would  be  a 
success,  be  prepared  for  work  and  remember  that  the  sooner  you 
do  the  preparatory  work  that  must  be  done,  no  matter  who  you 
may  be,  the  sooner  will  you  gain  success. 


THE  UNASKED  QUESTION  151 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  UNASKED  QUESTION 
Things  you  will  want  to  know  explained  in  detail. 

While  much  of  the  information  contained  in  this  chapter  will 
be  found  elsewhere  in  the  volume,  it  is  believed  that  a  series  of 
direct  questions  and  answers  will  be  found  helpful  in  resolving 
doubts  and  will  be  additionally  useful  in  enabling  the  beginner 
to  obtain  with  the  least  delay  the  answer  he  seeks.  The  para- 
graphs are  based  upon  those  points  most  generally  asked  by  the 
novice. 

How  long  does  the  studio  keep  a  script? 

From  a  day  to  several  months.  Different  studios  have  different 
methods  of  handling  their  scripts,  and  some  of  these  methods  in- 
volve a  considerable  period  of  delay  in  handling  those  scripts 
that  are  not  so  very  clearly  impossible  that  they  are  returned  im- 
mediately. 

How  long  should  I  wait  before  asking  about  them? 

It  is  well  to  wait  at  least  eight  weeks  before  making  inquiry  of 
an  editor.  Some  writers  wait  a  full  three  months. 

Is  a  delay  favorable  or  unfavorable? 

Generally  a  delay  beyond  a  couple  of  weeks  means  that  your 
manuscript  is  being  held  for  further  consideration,  having  passed 
a  first  reading.  A  delay  is  therefore  favorable,  if  not  too  long 
continued. 

What  should  I  write  in  making  inquiry? 

Simply  ask  if  they  have  the  script  and  what  the  chances  of 
action  are.  A  very  good  plan  is  to  send  a  letter  something  like 
this : 

Editor, 

Planet  Film  Co. 
Dear  Sir: 

On  May  27th  I  sent  you  a  drama  entitled  "The  Fate  of  a  Girl."  If  this 
has  not  been  received  by  you  ^will  you  please  advise  me  that  I  may  make  in- 
quiry of  the  postoffice.  If  it  is  being  held  for  consideration  may  I  ask  when 
there  is  Hikely  to  be  same  action  ? 

This  should  be  accompanied  by  a  stamped  and  self-addressed 
return  envelope. 


152  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

What  should  I  do  if  no  reply  comes? 

Wait  from  two  to  four  weeks.  Write  again,  again  enclosing  a 
stamped  and  self-addressed  envelope.  Register  the  letter  and 
state  at  the  time  of  registering  that  you  desire  a  receipt. 

Suppose  there  is  still  no  reply? 

Notify  the  company  that  you  withdraw  the  script,  using  the 
form  given  in  Chapter  XXII. 

Suppose  that  they  use  the  script  and  do  not  send  a  check? 

They  may  have  lost  your  address,  or  you  may  have  neglected 
to  put  it  on  the  script  in  the  first  place.  Assume  this  to  be  the 
case  and  write  the  editor,  stating  the  facts.  Enclose  the  usual 
stamped  and  self-addressed  envelope.  If  no  reply  is  returned, 
write  again,  addressing  the  Proprietor  or  President  of  the  com- 
pany. If  this  letter  is  not  replied  to,  consult  a  lawyer  if  you 
desire,  though  his  fee  will  probably  eat  up  the  check  from  the 
company. 

Suppose  that  my  script  is  returned  and  the  company  then  makes 
my  story? 

Regret  that  someone  else  probably  wrote  the  story  more  at- 
tractively than  you  did.  Ninety-nine  times  out  of  a  hundred  this 
will  be  the  case. 

To  whom  should  the  manuscript  be  addressed? 

To  "The  Editor  of  Photoplays,"  or  to  "The  Manuscript  De- 
partment." Scripts  should  not  be  addressed  to  individuals  unless 
your  personal  friendship  with  that  one  addressed  warrants  you  in 
doing  so. 

What  does  the  rejection  slip  mean? 

Precisely  what  it  generally  says.  The  company  cannot  use  your 
story  for  some  reason,  so  it  returns  it. 

Is  it  favorable  or  ^unfavorable? 

It  is  neither  or  both,  as  you  will.  It  is  a  favorable  sign  if  the 
editor  adds  a  word  or  two  of  encouragement  or  suggestion  in 
his  own  handwriting. 

What  does  "not  available"  mean? 

It  means  that  the  company  canrot  use  your  script.  This  may 
be  because  they  have  others  of  similar  class,  because  they  use 
none  of  that  class,  or  because  they  do  not  like  it  for  any  one  of 
a  thousand  possible  reasons. 

Should  I  register  my  manuscript? 

It  is  seldom  necessary  if  you  use  a  stout  envelope  of  the  proper 
size.  It  sometimes  delays  a  script  to  be  registered,  and  the  fact 
that  it  is  registered  will  not  impress  the  editor  with  its  worth. 

Do  companies  give  receipts  for  manuscripts? 

Seldom,  if  ever,  now.    The  courtesy  was  abused. 


THE  UNASKED  QUESTION  153 

How  may  I  obtain  a  receipt? 

By  registering  the  script  or  by  enclosing  a  return  postal. 

If  the  script  is  lost  will  the  receipt  enable  me  to  collect? 

It  will  not.    All  scripts  are  submitted  at  author's  risk. 

What  shall  I  do  if  a  script  is  mussed  or  torn? 

Return  it  to  the  company,  calling  attention  to  its  condition. 
They  will  recopy  the  script  if  it  is  their  fault.  Damage  due  to 
poor  envelopes  will  not  be  repaired,  so  send  the  envelope  in  which 
the  script  was  received. 

Can  I  have  more  than  250  words  in  my  synopsis  if  I  need  it? 

Yes,  but  you  should  not  need  more. 

In  what  tense  should  the  synopsis  be  written? 

In  the  present  tense.     Say  "Henry  is,"  not  "Henry  was." 

About  how  many  words  are  there  in  a  full  reel  story? 

As  few  as  you  need  to  tell  the  action  clearly.  The  reel  is  not 
decided  by  the  length  of  the  manuscript  either  in  words  or  pages, 
but  by  the  length  of  action. 

How  may  I  fudge  the  action? 

Roughly  by  the  number  of  seconds  it  should  take  to  play  the 
action.  The  method  of  the  different  directors  is  so  varied  that 
there  is  no  certain  rule. 

Why  should  I  pay  postage  both  ways  when  they  want  scripts? 

They  merely  advertise  their  willingness  to  examine  your  wares. 
If  there  is  nothing  they  want  it  falls  to  you  to  reclaim  your 
property. 

Why  do  some  companies  write  me  they  are  not  buying  certain 
kinds  of  stories  when  I  see  them  on  the  screen? 

Because  these  stories  are  purchased  from  certain  authors  by 
special  arrangement  and  not  in  the  open  market. 

Why  are  costume  plays  rejected? 

Because  they  involve  considerable  extra  expense  of  production, 
and  at  the  same  time  do  not  prove  as  interesting  as  modern  plays, 
as  a  rule. 

How  can  I  get  the  right  to  make  a  play  from  a  copyrighted 
book? 

Address  the  publishers,  stating  your  desire.  It  seldom  pays  to 
buy  copyright  rights  on  speculation. 

What  is  the  meaning  of  "swntfar  theme  used  before?" 

It  means  that  someone  else  has  written  a  story  like  yours.  It 
does  not  mean  that  you  are  suspected  of  having  used  a  story  by 
someone  else. 

Is  it  necessary  to  state  the  number  of  leaders  and  the  number 
of  words  in  each  leader  and  as  a  whole ? 

Some  companies  advise  this,  but  it  is  not  really  necessary.  Most 
scripts  will  be  more  or  less  changed,  and  your  estimate  may  be 


154  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

useless.    It  is  better  to  leave  leaders  and  words  unnumbered. 

Does  a  bust  count  as  a  scene ? 

A  bust  should  be  counted  as  a  scene  both  in  numbering  the 
scenes  and  in  counting  the  total.  This  is  because  the  camera  must 
be  moved  to  make  the  bust,  and  so  a  number  is  needed  to  identify 
that  strip  of  negative. 

Then  why  not  number  the  inserts? 

Because  the  inserts  are  made  by  a  separate  department  and  do 
not  need  the  identifying  number.  In  the  studio  they  are  marked 
according  to  some  system,  but  this  does  not  concern  the  author. 

What  is  the  precise  difference  between  an  insert  and  a  bust? 

An  insert  shows  little  or  no  action.  A  bust  is  the  magnification 
of  some  action. 

Must  the  passage  of  time  always  be  marked  by  a  leader? 

Not  if  the  scene  or  action  clearly  shows  the  flight  of  time,  but 
in  most  cases  it  is  better  to  write  in  a  time  leader,  even  if  you 
think  that  it  will  be  cut  out  in  the  studio. 

How  many  leaders  may  be  used? 

As  many  as  are  necessary  to  make  the  action  clear.  The  fewer 
the  number  of  leaders  and  the  shorter  the  length,  other  things 
being  equal,  the  more  likely  the  story  is  to  sell,  but  you  are  not 
limited  to  any  specific  number  of  leaders. 

How  many  words  can  I  use  in  a  leader? 

There  is  no  limit  save  that  of  common  sense.  The  shorter  the 
leader  the  better,  but  a  twelve-word  leader  that  is  clear  is  to  be 
preferred  to  one  of  eight  words  that  lacks  explicitness.  About 
twenty  words  should  be  the  limit  unless  you  think  the  story  will 
warrant  the  running  of  two  leaders  in  succession.  This  is  some- 
times, but  not  very  often,  done. 

Is  a  long  leader  better  in  letter  form? 

Only  when  the  letter  can  be  introduced  as  a  part  of  the  action. 
'  Do  not  have  the  character  suddenly  decide  to  write  a  letter  for 
no  other  reason  than  that  you  want  to  tell  the  audience  something. 
The  use  of  a  letter  is  permissible  only  when  there  is  a  real  neces- 
sity for  giving  some  other  character  the  information  the  letter 
contains. 

When  should  newspaper  paragraphs  be  introduced? 

Only  when  there  is  a  legitimate  excuse  for  having  some  char- 
acter read  or  be  shown  a  newspaper. 

As-  it  necessary  to  write  in  all  the  cut  backs? 

Write  in  a  reasonable  number  of  cut  backs,  as  the  situation 
may  seem  to  require,  but  do  not  write  for  the  extremist  who  may 
use  thirty  or  forty  cuts  where  the  average  director  would  use  but 
fifteen  or  twenty.  Be  careful  to  avoid  overdoing  the  cutting  back. 


THE  UNASKED  QUESTION  155 

How  fully  should  the  description  of  a  scene  setting  be  written? 

It  is  seldom  necessary  to  use  more  than  two  or  three  words. 
If  you  write  "Jane's  parlor,"  the  director  can  tell  about  the  sort 
of  parlor  Jane  would  have,  but  if  you  actually  need  a  piano,  add 
"with  piano"  to  call  attention  to  the  need. 

Should  the  time  of  day  be  added  to  a  scene? 

Not  unless  you  find  it  necessary  to  establish  the  exact  time.  It 
is  customary  to  add  "tint  for  night"  if  the  scene  takes  place  in  an 
exterior  after  dark. 

Will  a  story  with  the  entire  outdoor  action  happening  at  night 
be  accepted? 

Not  as  a  rule.  The  night  scene  is  nothing  more  than  an  under- 
exposed photograph,  and  an  underexposed  photograph  cannot  be 
a  good  one. 

Shall  I  send  a  letter  with  my  script? 

No.    The  editor  knows  you  have  sent  it  in  for  sale. 

May  two  or  more  scripts  be  sent  at  one  time? 

Yes,  provided  that  each  script  is  accompanied  by  its  own  re- 
turn envelope,  as  some  may  be  held  and  the  others  returned. 

Should  I  mark  a  price  on  my  script? 

If  you  wish  to.  Most  authors  find  it  more  profitable  to  leave 
the  price  to  the  editor. 

But  suppose  that  the  editor  sends  me-  only  five  or  ten  dollars? 

Write  a  courteous  note  asking  if  that  is  the  company's  regular 
rate.  If  it  is,  do  not  send  more  scripts  there.  If  it  is  not,  the 
editor  will  tell  you  why  so  little  was  sent.  It  is  better,  however, 
to  wait  until  the  second  time  before  querying. 

How  may  I  become  a  contract  writer? 

If  it  is  possible  with  that  studio,  you  may  make  a  contract  after 
you  have  proven  by  the  number  and  frequency  of  the  scripts  ac- 
cepted that  you  can  deliver  the  goods  contracted  for. 

Is  it  desirable  to  be  a  contract  writer ? 

NJot  as  a  rule.  At  the  end  of  your  contract  it  may  not  be  re- 
newed, and  you  will  find  that  your  work  is  practically  unknown 
to  other  studios. 

Should  I  put  comedy  scenes  in  a  drama? 

It  is  not  recommended.  In  the  stage  drama  comedy  is  intro- 
duced that  the  tension  may  be  lightened,  since  the  play  runs  two 
or  three  hours.  In  the  twenty-minute  or  even  three-reel  story 
this  is  not  required. 

How  long  after  acceptance  should  a  story  be  released? 

Generally  in  from  three  to  six  months.  Stories  have  been  held 
a  year  or  more  for  production,  and  some  never  are  produced. 

How  may  I  tell  when  it  is  coming  out? 


156  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

By  watching  the  stories  of  the  films.  The  title  may  be  changed, 
but  you  will  probably  be  able  to  recognize  your  story. 

Hoiv  may  I  force  a  manufacturer  to  produce  my  story ? 

You  cannot.    Purchase  carries  with  it  no  promise  of  production. 

What  can  I  do  if  a  manufacturer  changes  my  story? 

You  have  no  redress.  You  have  sold  a  story.  It  becomes  the 
property  of  the  purchaser  and  he  may  do  with  it  as  he  pleases. 
Not  infrequently  two  stories  may  be  combined  into  one. 

How  may  I  reserve  the  rights  to  make  a  short  story  or  stage 
drama  of  my  play? 

By  stating  on  the  manuscript  that  the  fiction  or  dramatic  rights, 
or  both,  are  reserved  by  the  author.  Then  be  careful  that,  in 
signing  the  release  slips,  this  same  reservation  is  made. 

Is  this  advisable? 

It  reduces  your  chances  of  a  sale  almost  to  nothingness. 

Can  I  make  a  hero  of  my  villain? 

Technically  you  cannot,  since  your  leading  character  is  the  hero, 
no  matter  what  his  personal  character  may  be.  You  may  make  a 
criminal  your  leading  character,  but  this  is  seldom  advisable.  It 
is  the  general  rule  of  all  censorships  that  evil  must  be  punished. 
If  the  criminal  is  punished,  the  story  has  the  undesirable  happy 
ending.  If  he  escapes,  the  censors  will  object  to  the  story  and 
prevent  its  circulation  in  whole  or  part. 

May  a  script  open  with  a  leader? 

It  is  often  done,  but  it  is  not  recommended.  Many  theaters 
start  with  the  first  picture  and  the  leader  is  lost.  In  all  cases  the 
audience  is  not  yet  alert  and  will  not  catch  the  leader. 

Should  the  author  indicate  the  players  he  wants  in  his  play? 

This  should  not  be  done.  The  studio  will  cast  the  play.  To 
mark  in  the  names  of  the  players  will  make  it  necessary  to  recopy 
the  script. 

Suppose  that  I  write  a  story  for  some  particular  player? 

This  should  not  be  done.  It  is  well,  however,  if  a  part  seems 
to  be  particularly  suited  to  some  person,  to  suggest  on  a  separate 
slip  that  the  part  should  be  found  suitable  to  the  person  named. 

Should  my  script  be  typewritten? 

Invariably,  no  matter  how  clear  your  handwriting  may  be. 

How  may  I  get  my  scripts  copied? 

Even  in  the  small  towns  there  is  some  lawyer  whose  clerk  will 
take  copying.  In  the  larger  cities  there  are  public  stenographers 
in  almost  every  office  building.  The  magazines  devoted  to  story 
writing  will  give  the  names  of  copyists. 

How  much  should  this  cost? 

About  forty  cents  a  thousand  words,  or  ten  to  twenty  cents  a 
page. 


THE  UNASKED  QUESTION  157 

Can  I  send  a  story  to  the  same  studio  more  than  once? 

There  is  nothing  to  prevent  yon.  It  is  best,  however,  to  call 
attention  to  changes  made  in  the  story,  and  state  that  these  are 
the  reasons  for  sending  a  second  time. 

Do  stories  ever  sell  on  a  second  reading? 

Yes,  if  the  changes  made  better  fit  it  to  the  uses  of  the  studio 
to  which  it  is  submitted. 

How  can  I  tell  what  each  manufacturer  wants? 

Study  the  stories  of  the  films  he  has  released  and  read  the  trade 
papers. 

Can  I  sell  my  stories  to  foreign  manufacturers? 

Probobly  not.    There  is  an  ample  supply  abroad. 

How  should  I  go  about  it? 

Obtain  the  studio  addresses  and  send  your  manuscript  in  the 
language  of  the  country.  Enclose  one  or  more  International 
Reply  Coupons  for  the  return  of  the  script.  These  may  be  had  of 
any  post  office  for  six  cents  each,  and  are  good  for  stamps  to  the 
value  of  five  cents  in  any  country  within  the  Postal  Union. 

Plow  do  the  prices  compare? 

Ten  or  fifteen  dollars  will  be  paid  for  the  script  that  would  com- 
mand fifty  over  here. 

Will  it  help  to  send  a  script  to  a  player  to  whom  it  should  par- 
ticularly appeal  instead  of  to  the  Editor? 

The  players  cannot  accept  scripts  nor  force  their  opinions  on 
the  Editor. 

Suppose  that  my  script  calls  for  some  article  thai  I  possess  and 
the  studio  is  not  likely  to  have.  Should  it  be  sent  with  the  script? 

Simply  state  that  you  have  such  an  article  and  will  be  pleased 
to  loan  it  on  request.  Do  not  send  it  until  you  are  positively 
asked  for  it. 

Can  I  use  a  title  someone  else  has  used? 

You  can,  but  it  is  a  bad  practice. 

//  the  purchaser  of  my  script  gives  the  story  another  title,  may 
I  use  the  one  I  suggested? 

If  you  wish.     The  original  purchaser  has  discarded  the  title. 

Is  there  any  stated  period  that  must  elapse  before  I  send  an- 
other story  to  the  studio  to  which  one  has  been  sent? 

There  is  no  limit  to  the  scripts  that  may  be  sent  to  one  studio, 
but  it  is  best  not  to  send  too  many  to  one  place;  perhaps  not 
more  than  two  a  week. 

Is  it  necessary  to  draw  diagrams  of  the  stage  settings? 

Do  not  send  diagrams  of  any  sort. 


158  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Should  I  write  the  leaders  and  inserts  in  red  ink? 

Most  editors  prefer  an  all-black  ribbon. 

Should  I  single  or  double  space? 

It  is  best  to  single  space  scenes  and  use  a  double  space  between 
scenes,  between  scenes  and  leaders,  and  between  parts  of  scenes 
and  an  insert. 

Can  I  have  part  of  the  action  occur  in  a  foreign  country? 

It  can  be  done  without  much  trouble  if  the  foreign  action  is 
held  to  inside  scenes,  or  very  simple  landscapes,  but  city  streets 
or  country  houses  or  villages  will  not  be  convincing. 

Do  they  have  to  wait  until  it  rains  to  make  pictures  in  the  rain? 

Sometimes  a  sprinkler  system  is  used. 

Will  it  help  to  send  post  card  pictures  or  photographs  that  look 
like  the  scenes  I  want? 

Nothing  of  this  sort  should  be  sent.  The  director  will  do  the 
best  he  can  with  what  is  at  hand. 

Can  I  write  a  series  of  stories  about  the  same  character  and 
sell  them  to  different  studios  if  one  will  not  take  them  all? 

This  may  be  done  if  the  stories  are  not  too  much  alike,  but  it 
would  be  better  to  change  the  name  of  the  character. 

Can  anyone  contribute  to  a  series  of  stories? 

Anyone  can  offer  stories  that  will  fit  a  series,  but  generally 
these  series  plays  are  written  by  one  or  more  authors  in  close 
touch  with  the  studio. 

Will  it  help  me  to  take  a  course  in  acting  for  motion  pictures? 
It  will  not  be  of  any  assistance.  Practically  all  of  these  schools 
are  frauds. 

Is  it  better  for  a  woman  to  use  a  masculine  pen  name? 

This  is  not  necessary.  Some  of  the  best  paid  and  most  prolific 
writers  are  women.  There  is  no  preference  shown. 

Is  it  best  to  let  an  agent  handle  my  manuscripts?. 

It  is  better  that  you  sell  your  scripts  direct.  In  many  studios 
there  is  a  prejudice  against  the  agent,  and  in  none  is  the  agent 
favored. 

Will  it  pay  to  hire  someone  to  revise  my  scripts? 

It  will  not  pay.  Revision  may  put  your  idea  into  better  tech- 
nical form,  but  it  will  not  better  the  idea,  and  it  is  the  idea  that 
is  the  principal  factor  in  a  sale. 

Iff  after  I  have  sent  out  a  script,  I  think  of  a  better  way  of 
ending  the  story,  should  I  write  and  tell  the  editor? 

No.  If  the  script  sells,  you  will  not  need  to  change  .  If  it  is 
returned,  you  can  make  the  change  after  it  comes  back. 

Should  I  send  a  letter  and  a  script  in  the  same  envelope f 

That  depends  on  the  nature  of  the  letter.    If  you  have  to  write 


THE  UNASKED  QUESTION  159 

a  letter  about  the  script  you  are  sending,  place  it  in  the  envelope 
with  the  script.  If  you  are  writing  the  editor  on  another  mat- 
ter, use  another  envelope.  It  may  be  a  week  before  your  script  en- 
velope is  opened.  A  script  and  a  letter  relating  thereto  should 
never  be  sent  under  separate  covers. 

What  sort  of  scripts  sell  best? 

There  is  a  demand  for  all  sorts.  Comedy  of  ihe  right  sort 
commands  the  most  steady  market,  with  a  real  heart-interest 
story  next,  and  then  melodrama.  The  market  varies  from  time 
to  time,  but  this  is  the  general  rule. 

When  should  dialogue  be  used? 

When  a  single  speech  will  convey  more  than  an  equal  number 
of  words  of  action. 

//  tzvo  or  more  consecutive  scenes  are  played  in  the  same  set, 
should  each  scene  be  numbered? 

Each  scene  must  be  numbered  in  its  proper  order.  Two  or 
more  scenes  in  succession  in  the  same  set  will  be  broken  by 
leaders,  and  so  each  scene  must  have  a  number  by  which  it  may 
be  identified. 

Can  I  show  parts  of  two  rooms  at  the  same  time? 

This  can  be  done,  but  it  should  be  remembered  that  in  such  a 
case  each  room  will  have  only  half  of  the  stage  width  and  that 
the  action  must  all  happen  close  to  the  walls.  It  would  be  better 
to  use  the  cut  back  from  one  room  to  the  other. 

If  I  want  a  trick  scene  is  it  sufficient  to  tell  what  I  want,  or 
must  I  explain  hozv  it  can  be  done? 

Ask  for  what  you  want  and  leave  it  to  the  director  and  the 
cameraman,  but  remember  that  it  is  not  a  good  plan  to  use  much 
trick  work,  since  this  means  considerable  trouble.  Be  certain 
that  the  result  will  warrant  the  trouble. 

Why  should  I  cut  a  long  scene  into  two  through  the  use  of 
some  other  scene? 

Because  the  spectator  grows  tired  of  action  too  long  con- 
tinued in  one  spot,  even  when  the  action  itself  is  interesting. 

Must  I  supply  pen  copies  of  the  letters  used  in  my  play? 

No.  Put  the  text  of  the  letter  into  the  script  at  the  proper 
place.  The  letter  will  be  written  ir  the  studio  with  india  ink 
and  on  the  proper  sort  of  paper. 

How  many  times  may  a  script  be  sent  out? 

As  many  times  as  there  are  companies  likely  to  be  able  to  use 
it,  but  after  three  or  four  submissions  the  repeated  return  should 
suggest  to  you  that  the  script  is  not  right  and  needs  revision. 

What  does  first  run  script  mean? 

First  run  script  means  that  you  send  all  of  your  stories  to  one 


160  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

particular  studio  in  accordance  with-  an  arrangement  already 
made  with  them  whereby  you  are  given  a  little  better  price  than 
usual  because  they  are  given  first  choice. 

How  may  I  make  my  scripts  first  run? 

By  sending  in  such  good  stories  that  a  studio  will  be  anxious 
to  get  first  pick  of  your  product.  Generally  a  year  or  more  is 
required  to  accomplish  this  result. 

Can  I  put  my  story  out  on  royalty? 

This  is  very  occasionally  done  in  the  case  of  state  rights  fea- 
tures, but  practically  never  in  the  case  of  regular  releases. 

Why  cannot  this  be  done? 

It  would  involve  too  much  bookkeeping  and  to  some  extent  re- 
veal the  volume  of  the  manufacturer's  business  to  outsiders. 

Can  I  locate  my  story  in  a  machine  shop,  a  mill  or  other  similar 
place? 

This  may  be  done,  but  it  is  best  not  to  be  too  specific.  Do  not 
ask  for  a  knitting  mill  when  a  box  factory  will  do  as  well,  be- 
cause it  may  be  possible  to  get  a  well-lighted  box  factory,  where 
to  use  a  knitting  mill  would  involve  considerable  expense  in  the 
transportation  of  the  special  lights  used  in  picture  making  and 
setting  these  up. 

If  a  character  assumes  an  alias,  should  this  alias  be  employed 
to  show  that  he  is  disguised? 

Make  it  plain  in  the  action  that  he  is  disguised,  but  keep  on 
calling  him  by  the  name  first  used.  If  your  hero  is  John  Jones, 
do  not  call  him  John  or  Jones  indiscriminately.  Call  him  either 
John  or  Jones  and  stick  to  that  selection  throughout. 

What  does  it  mean  when  I  receive  a  script  without  even  a  re- 
jection slip? 

It  either  means  that  they  are  out  of  slips  at  the  moment  or 
else  that  they  forget  to  put  one  in. 

If  I  have  more  than  one  good  title  for  a  play  should  I  send  the 
others? 

You  may,  but  it  is  the  better  plan  to  use  only  one  title  and 
write  other  plays  to  fit  the  other  titles.  Often  a  title  will  give 
you  the  idea  for  a  play  entirely  different  from  the  one  to  which 
it  was  first  applied. 

What  is  a  director's  sheet? 

It  is  a  list  of  scenes  with  a  word  or  two  describing  the  action 
in  each.  It  is  a  term  seemingly  invented  by  a  man  writing  about 
an  unfamiliar  subject.  Where  such  a  memorandum  of  the  action 
is  employed,  it  is  written  by  the  director  for  his  convenience,  and. 
not  by  the  author. 

Why  cannot  I  sell  all  that  I  write? 

Because  no  author  invariably  writes  a  good  story. 


TECHNICAL  TERMS  161 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

TECHNICAL    TERMS 

Terminology  of  the  studio — definitions  of  the  phrases  of  the 
studio  and  new  meanings  given  words  in  common  use. 

While  most  of  the  terms  used  in  this  boo*k  are  explained  and 
illustrated  at  the  time  of  their  first  use,  a  glossary  may  be  found 
useful  at  times.  Various  studios  have  their  own  terms,  invented 
in  default  of  an  established  terminology.  In  some  studios,  for 
instance,  a  photograph  made  with  an  ordinary  camera  for  the  use 
of  the  press  department  is  called  a  "still"  meaning  that  it  is 
made  without  action.  In  other  studios  it  is  called  a  "flat"  and  in 
some  few  a  "regular,"  but  the  use  of  the  terms  given  below  is 
understandable  to  all  studios  and  are  the  ones  in  most  general  use : 

Action — (a)  Any  gesture  performed  by  the  player,  (b)  The 
various  actions  of  individual  players  whereby  the  narrative 
is  advanced. 

— ,  plot  of — All  the  action  of  a  play  properly  divided  into 
scenes  and  with  leaders  and  inserts  written  in. 

Business — The  action  of  the  player.  ("Business  of  untying  rope" 
— the  action  of  untying  the  rope.) 

Break — Interrupting  the  scene  to  prevent  long  action  or  showing 
forbidden  matter. 

Bust — A  small  section  of,  a  scene  magnified  by  bringing  the 
camera  closer  to  the  object  photographed. 

By-play — Minor  action  of  the  players  not  essential  to  the  relation 
of  the  story.  Business  generally  refers  to  the  essential  action, 
and  by-play  to  the  non-essential. 

Cast — A  list  of  the  characters  employed  in  a  play. 

Climax — The  ultimate  end  of  the  action,  the  most  impressive 
moment  of  the  play.  The  point  at  which  all  the  narrative 
has  been  directed.  An  anti-climax  is  a  previous  action  of 
greater  strength  that  the  incident  which  ends  the  play  and 
so  robs  the  true  climax  of  its  impressiveness. 

Close-u]p — Same  as  Bust  or  close  action. 

Comedy — A  play  in  which  the  element  of  humor  is  dominant — an 
amusing  play  lacking  serious  purpose  or  story. 

Crisis — A  critical  moment  in  the  development  of  the  narrative 
but  not  as  important  as  the  climax.  If  of  equal  or  greater 
importance,  the  crisis  becomes  an  anti-climax. 


162  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Cutting — (a)  Eliminating  useless  portions  of  the  film:  editing. 
(b)  Dividing  a  scene  for  the  purpose  of  inserting  leader  or 
other  matter. 

—  room' — A  room  supplied  with  projection  machine  and 
screen  where  the  prints  are  run  through  and  the  matter  to 
be  eliminated  is  decided  upon. 

Cut-back — Repeated  returns  to  a  scene  or  character  after  inter- 
polated scenes  of  related  action. 

Denouement — The  climax  of  a  play;  the  end  at  which  the  action 
has  been  directed.  The  natural  consequence  of  the  preced- 
ing action. 

Development — of  plot — The  elaboration  of  the  start  or  leading 
action  into  a  complete  series  of  incidents. 

of  film — The  immersing  of  the  film  in  a  solution  which 

brings  out  the  picture,  through  the  action  of  chemicals  on 
the  silver  in  the  emulsion. 

Director — One  who  produces  photoplays,  directing  the  prepara- 
tion and  action. 

Dissolve — The  gradual  introduction  or  withdrawal  of  a  character 
from  a  scene  by  means  of  double  exposure  and  stopping 
down. 

Double — exposure.  The  exposure  of  the  same  negative  film 
twice. 

— printing — Exposing  the  same  piece  of  film  behind  two 
negatives  in  succession,  impressing  a  double  figure  on  the 
sensitive  emulsion. 

Drama — In  general  any  form  of  stage  play.  In  photoplay  the 
word  is  applied  only  to  serious  plays. 

Editor — A  person  employed  to  select  plays  and  prepare  them  for 
production. 

Educational — A  film  possessing  an  educational  as  well  as  enter- 
taining value  as  pictures  of  industries,  foreign  people,  etc. 

Exterior — A  scene  in  which  the  action  is  laid  outdoors. 

Fade — Dissolving  the  end  of  one  scene  into  the  commencement 
of  the  next  by  means  of  double  exposure  and  opening  or 
closing  the  diaphragm. 

Farce — The  broadest  form  of  comedy;  a  comedy  in  which  abso- 
lute probability  is  subordinate  to  the  creation  of  comedy 
action  and  situations. 

— comedy — A  play  not  so  broad  as  farce,  yet  livelier  than 
high  comedy. 

Flash — A  few  feet  only  of  a  scene  or  insert;  a  fleeting  glimpse. 

Flat — A  piece  of  scenery  stretched  upon  a  framework  of  wood. 

Frame — Each  single  picture  on  a  film. 


TECHNICAL  TERMS  163 

Insert — Any  matter,  not  leader,  inserted  in  the  film,  as  reproduc- 
tions of  letters  or  newspapers,  small  objects,  etc. 

Interior — A  scene  played  within  a  house  or  other  structure. 

Joining — cementing  together  the  various  parts  of  a  film. 

— room — A  department  where  the  several  scenes  are  as- 
sembled or  cemented  together  into  a  complete  reel. 

Lead — A  character  most  prominent  in  a  play,  generally  a  man  and 
a  woman. 

Leader — A  printed  legend  conveying  some  explanation  not  possi- 
ble to  give  in  action. 

— cut  in — A  leader  cut  into  or  inserted  between  two  parts 
of  a  scene  instead  of  placed  between  scenes. 

Lines — Real  or  imaginary  lines  defining  the  angle  of  the  lens  and 
therefore  all  that  part  of  the  stage  in  the  field  of  the  camera. 

Location — Any  exterior  in  which  a  scene  is  played. 

Magazine — Light-tight  boxes  used  for  holding  film  in  the  camera. 
Fireproof  boxes  used  for  holding  film  in  the  projection  ma- 
chine. 

Make-up — The  various  materials  with  which  the  players  change 
their  appearance. 

Manuscript — The  written  play,  consisting  of  a  synopsis,  cast  and 
plot  of  action  with  leaders  and  inserts. 

Mask — Metal  cut-outs  used  for  shielding  parts  of  the  film  from 
exposure  or  giving  certain  shapes  to  the  picture. 

Master  plot — The  last  reduction  of  a  plot  of  a  story.  The  base 
from  which  many  variations  may  spring. 

Match — Planning  the  action  at  the  end  of  one  scene  to  correspond 
to  that  in  the  opening  of  the  next,  as  a  person  passing  from 
one  room  to  another. 

Mss. — The  abbreviation  for  manuscript. 

Multiple  reel — A  story  requiring  more  than  one  reel  for  its  com- 
plete action. 

Negative — The  film  which  has  been  exposed  in  the  camera  and 
then  developed,  giving  white  as  black  and  the  reverse. 

Opposite — The  player  with  whom  a  character  has  most  to  do.  The 
heroine  plays  opposite  the  hero,  the  juvenile  opposite  the 
ingenue,  etc. 

Panoram — A  contraction  of  panorama  or  panoramic.  Moving  the 
camera  up  and  down  or  from  side  to  side  to  follow  the  ac- 
tion across  the  lines. 

Photographic  stage — A  small  section  of  the  full  stage  nearest  to 
the  camera  on  which  all  important  action  should  be  played. 
A  space  about  six  by  four  feet. 

Plot — The  skeleton  of  a  story.    The  motive. 

of  action.  The  action  divided  into  scenes. 


161  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Plot — property — A  list  of  all  objects  required  in  producing  a 
certain  play. 

— ,  scene — A  list  of  all  scenes  and  locations  required  in  the 
production  of  a  certain  play. 

Positive — A  film  exposed  behind  a  negative  and  then  developed, 
rendering  the  proper  values  in  white  and  black. 

Printing — Passing  positive  and  negative  film  together  through  a 
machine  which  exposes  the  positive  film  through  the  nega- 
tive. 

Producer — One  who  produces  pictures.     See  Director. 

Properties — Ail  articles  required  for  use  in  a  play. 

Punch — That  quality  of  the  plot  that  forcefully  impresses  the 
spectator.  The  mental  suggestion  that  renders  physical  ac- 
tion impressive. 

Reconstruction — The  revision  of  a  manuscript  to  suit  the  particu- 
lar purposes  of  the  studio  making  the  production. 

Reel — (a)  One  or  more  subjects  aggregating  approximately  one 
thousand  feet,  (b)  The  spool  on  which  film  is  wound. 

Release — One  or  more  subjects,  a  full  reel,  issued  by  a  manu- 
facturer as  a  complete  offering. 

— ^-day — Stated  days  on  which  manufacturers  release  or  pub- 
lish their  products  (Monday,  Thursday  and  Saturday  are 
the  Biograph  release  days.  Imp  makes  three  releases  each 
week.) 

Retake — Making  over  a  scene  because  of  some  defect  in  the  first. 

Scenario — Once  erroneously  applied  to  the  photoplay  script.  A 
condensed  sketch  of  the  action  of  a  play. 

Scene — (a)  All  of  the  action  of  a  play  that  is  taken  in  one  spot 
at  one  time  without  stopping  of  the  camera,  (b)  A  complete 
stage  setting. 

Script — Same  as  manuscript. 

Set — A  combination  of  parts  of  scenery  presenting  the  aspect  of 
an  interior  or  exterior. 

Splice — To  join  two  pieces  of  film  by  cementing  them  together. 

Split  reel — A  thousand  feet  of  film,  containing  two  or  more  sub- 
jects. 

Still — A  photograph  made  with  a  regular  camera  for  the  use  of 
the  advertising  department. 

Studio — A  place  where  pictures  are  made.  A  daylight  studio  has 
a  glass  roof  and  sides.  An  electric  studio  is  one  where  pic- 
tures are  made  by  artificial  light. 

Sub-title — Same  as  Leader. 

Switch-back — Same  as  Cut-back. 


COMPLETE  ACTION  165 

Synopsis — A  brief  resume  of  the  story  or  its  salient  points,  en- 
abling the  Editor  to  get  an  idea  of  the  story  without  reading 
the  entire  script. 

Title — The  name  or  caption  given  a  play. 

Tinting — Dyeing  the  film  in  various  colors  to  suggest  moonlight, 
lamplight,  firelight,  etc. 

Trick — Any  effect  not  gained  through  straight  photography. 

Turning — Operating  the  crank  of  the  camera  and  causing  the 
mechanism  to  pass  film  through  the  box  behind  the  lense. 

Vision — A  small  scene  shown  as  part  of  a  full   frame,  the  re 
mainder  being  given  to  the  main  action. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


COMPLETE    ACTION 

Two    sample   scripts   showing   the  action   developed   to   the 
highest  reasonable  point — the  extreme  of  fullness. 

Throughout  this  book  the  examples  show  a  development  that  is 
recommended  as  being  sufficiently  full  to  give  a  producer  all  the 
needful  information,  but  for  the  purpose  of  comparison  we  pre- 
sent in  this  chapter  two  studio  scripts,  one  a  drama,  the  other 
a  light  comedy,  written  by  Lawrence  S.  McCloskey,  Editor  for 
the  Lubin  Manufacturing  Company  and  produced  by  that  com- 
pany. This  form  should  be  followed  where  an  Editor  or  pro- 
ducer particularly  requests  a  "full  script." 


FRIEND  JOHN. 

By  Lawrence  S.  McCloskey. 
Synopsis. 
Time—Present. 
Place  —  Quaker  Village  in  Pennsylvania. 

John  Franklin,  a  stolid  Quaker,  devotes  his  simple  life 
to  the  Lord  and  horses—worshipping  the  former,  shoeing  the 
latter.  His  sister,  Priscella,  is  housekeeper.  In  the  depths 
of  John's  big,  simple  heart,  love  is  growing  for  Ruth,  daughter 


166  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

of  the  Rogers—staunch  Quakers  all.  Howard  Clark,  an  idle, 
rich  young  man,  while  autoing  through  the  village,  sees  the 
pretty  and  demure  young  Quakeress,  and  resolves  to  see  more  of 
her.  He  makes  it  his  business  to  become  acquainted,  and  when 
she  chides  him  for  his  reckless,  sinful  way,  he  tells  her  that 
he  would  reform  if  she  would  help  him.  The  girl  is  seized 
with  the  idea  that  the  Lord  has  sent  this  man  to  her  to  be 
saved  and  she  resolves  to  perform  her  mission.  In  the  course 
of  their  talks  she  falls  in  love  with  the  reckless,  young 
fellow,  and  when  he  asks  her  to  elope  with  him  she  does  so, 
partly  because  she  loves  him,  but  more  because  she  thinks  it 
her  duty  to  save  his  soul.  The  elopement  causes  grief  to  the 
old  folks.  John's  big  heart  is  torn,  but  his  grief  is  silent. 
Clark  marries  Ruth,  and  they  live  happily  for  a  while  at  his 
home  in  the  city.  But,  although  Clark  loves  his  little  wife, 
he  goes  back  to  his  old  ways,  and  because  Ruth  clings  to  her 
old-fashioned  ways  and  does  not  make  free  with  his  pleasure- 
loving  friends  he  becomes  ashamed  of  her  and  neglects  her. 
Even  his  discovery  of  baby  clothes,  which  Ruth  is  sewing,  fails 
to  soften  him.  At  last,  lonely  and  miserable,  Ruth,  seeking 
love  and  sympathy,  returns  to  her  home.  There  her  father's 
harsh  words  anger  her,  and,  although  he  does  not  refuse  her 
admittance,  she  is  too  proud  to  accept  his  charity.  From  his 
blacksmith  shop  John  sees  Ruth  staggering  in  the  road.  He 
takes  her  into  his  house,  where  she  sobs  out  her  story  to  John 
and  his  sister.  In  righteous  wrath  John  hastens  to  the  city. 
He  finds  Ruth's  husband  in  the  midst  of  midnight  revelry.  In 
front  of  all  the  guests  John  drags  Clark  from  the  house  and 
forces  him  to  return  to  the  village.   When  they  arrive  they 
find  that  the  stork  has  gotten  there  ahead  of  them.  Ruth  has 
a  baby.  The  little  mite  awakens  in  Ruth's  husband  all  the 
manhood  that  has  been  slumbering,  and  when  the  happy  family 
later  return  to  their  city  home  Friend  John  at  his  forge  is 
comforted  in  knowing  that  Ruth  is  happy. 

CAST. 

JOHN  FRANKLIN (Blacksmith) 

PRISCILLA (John's  sister) 

RUTH 

RUTH'S  FATHER 

RUTH'S  MOTHER 

HOWARD  CLARK 

Chauffeur 

Butler 

Number  of  Quakers. 

Guests  of  Clark. 


COMPLETE  ACTION  167 

FRIEND  JOHN. 
Scene  Plot. 

INTERIORS. 

Blacksmith  Shop  (studio  set)-  6 

Kitchen  in  John's  Home-  8-32-39 

Bedroom  in  John's  Home-  37-40 

Parlor  in  Ruth's  Home-  15 

Dining  Room  in  Ruth's  Home-  17-18 

Living  Room-  Howard's  Apartments-  21-23-25-27-34-36 

Bedroom-  Howard's  Apartments-  24-26 

Hallway-  Howard's  Apartments  (small  set-  camera  close  up) 
33-35 

EXTERIORS. 

Friends'  Meeting  House-  1 

Road  Scenes-  2-3-4-9-11-29-31 

Crossroads-  12-16-19 

Ruth's  Home  (Small  Farm)-  5-13-28-41 

Blacksmith  Shop-  7-10-20-22-30-38-42 

FRIEND  JOHN. 

By  Lawrence  S.  McCloskey. 
Leader-  JOHN  FRANKLIN  AND  HIS  SISTER  PRISCELLA. 

Scene  1-  EXTERIOR  FRIENDS'  MEETING  HOUSE. 

Quakers  coming  out  of  meeting  house-  John  and  sister  in 
foreground-  Ruth,  Ruth's  father  and  Ruth's  mother  on  from 
rear-  sober  greetings  (a  Quaker  never  tips  his  hat)- 
John  steals  sly  glances  at  Ruth-  she  looks  at  him-  drops 
her  eyes  demurely-  Ruth  and  family  off-  John  steals 
another  glance  after  Ruth-  his  sister  smiles  knowingly- 
then  remembers  it  ill  behooves  a  man  to  think  of  a  maid 
on  the  Sabbath-  she  pulls  his  sleeve-  he  starts  guiltily- 
they  walk  off  in  opposite  direction  from  Ruth. 

Scene  2-  ROAD. 

Ruth,  father  and  mother  walking  towards  camera-  Howard 
and  party  of  young  men  approach  in  auto-  waving  hats  and 
singing-  blow  horn-  Ruth  and  family  hastily  step  aside 
to  allow  auto  to  pass-  as  it  passes  Howard  leans  over 
side  and  gets  good  look  at  Ruth-  father  and  mother  raise 
hands  in  horror  at  young  man's  desecration  of  Sabbath 
day. 


168  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Scene  3-  ROAD. 

(Flash)  Camera  close  up-  show  Howard  looking  back  at  Ruth 
over  side  of  speeding  auto-  he  registers  "She's  a  peach- 
I'll  come  back  and  look  her  up"-  other  fellows  not 
paying  any  attention  to  Howard. 

Scene  4-  Back  to  No.  2  (ROAD) 

Ruth  annoyed  at  auto  party-  father  and  mother  shake  heads 
in  solemn  disapproval-  all  walk  off. 

Leader-  LATER. 

Scene  5-  EXTERIOR  RUTH'S  HOME  (Small  farm) 

Horse  and  small  open  wagon  standing  in  road-  Ruth  climb- 
ing into  wagon-  father  examining  horse's  hoofs-  tells 
Ruth  to  have  horse  shod-  mother  on  from  house  with 
basket  of  eggs-  hands  them  to  Ruth-  Ruth  drives  off. 

Scene  6-  INTERIOR  BLACKSMITH  SHOP  (Set  in  studio-  dim  light) 
John  at  anvil  hammering  red-hot  horseshoe-  helper 
pumping  bellows  flames  throw  high  lights  on  John's  face- 
John  hears  team  drive  up  outside  shop-  sees  Ruth-  smiles 
and  exits  to  meet  her. 

Scene  7-  EXTERIOR  BLACKSMITH  SHOP  (John's  house  or  gate  to 
yard  at  side)-  Sign,  John  Franklin,  Blacksmith. 
Ruth  drives  up  and  gets  out  of  wagon-  John  on  from  shop- 
greets  Ruth-  clumsy  attempt  to  make  love-  she  laughs  at 
him-  he  attempts  to  take  her  hand,  at  which  she  tells 
him  horse  is  to  be  shod-  John's  sister  on  from  road-  just 
home  from  market  (basket  on  arm)-  Ruth  takes  her  eggs 
from  wagon-  says  they  are  a  present  from  mother-  sister 
invites  her  into  house-  both  go  through  gate-  sister 
smiling  at  Ruth  and  John-  John  disappointed  at  interrup- 
tion, but  calls  helper  from  shop-  they  commence  to 
unhitch  horse. 

Scene  8-  KITCHEN  IN  JOHN'S  HOME. 

John's  sister  and  Ruth  on-  begin  to  unpack  baskets- 
conversation-  sister  looks  at  Ruth-  then  out  at  John- 
tells  Ruth  John  loves  her-  Ruth  confused. 

Leader-  CLARK  RETURNS  TO  LOOK  FOR  THE  PRETTY  QUAKERESS. 

Scene  9-  ROAD. 

(Flash)  Howard  in  auto  (driven  by  chauffeur)  looking 
right  and  left. 

Scene  10-  EXTERIOR  BLACKSMITH  SHOP. 

Ruth  in  wagon  ready  to  drive  away-  John  inspecting  new 
shoes  he  has  just  put  on  horse's  feet-  sister  saying 
goodbye  to  Ruth-  Ruth  says  goodby  to  John  and  drives 
off-  John  looks  after  her  wistfully-  sister  accuses  him 
of  loving  Ruth-  he  admits  it  bashfully. 


COMPLETE  ACTION  169 

Scene  11-  ROAD. 

Howard  in  auto  spies  Ruth  in  distance-  orders  chauffeur 
to  drive  on-  auto  off. 

Scene  12-  CROSSROADS. 

Ruth  on  in  wagon,  suddenly  pulls  horse  up-  Howard's  auto 
on,  stops  abruptly  so  as  to  block  middle  of  road  (but 
leave  room  for  wagon  to  pass  at  edge  of  road). 

Cut  in-  HE  PRETENDS  A  BREAKDOWN. 

Chauffeur  gets  out  and  under  car-  reports  something  out 
of  order-  Howard  appears  to  be  annoyed  (but  winks  at 
chauffeur)-  gets  out  of  auto-  comes  to  Ruth  and  apolo- 
gizes for  holding  her  up-  she  supposes  he  cannot  help  it- 
he  attempts  familiarity-  she  reproves  him  severely. 

Cut  in-  "THY  WAYS  ARE  SINFUL  AND  THEE  HAD  BETTER  REFORM." 

Howard  pretends  to  take  her  words  to  heart,  but  he  soon 
has  her  blushing  at  his  compliments. 

Scene  13-  EXTERIOR  RUTH'S  HOME. 

(Flash)  Father  looking  down  road-  sees  Ruth  talking  to 
stranger-  decides  to  investigate-  off  towards  them. 

Scene  14-  Back  to  No.  12  (ROAD). 

Howard  talking  to  Ruth-  Ruth's  father  on-  Ruth  intro- 
duces Howard-  explains  about  auto. 

Cut  in-  THE  HOSPITABLE  QUAKER  INVITES  THE  STRANGER  TO  HIS  HOME 
UNTIL  THE  AUTO  IS  REPAIRED. 

Ruth's  father  invites  Howard  to  house-  leads  horse 
around  auto  while  Howard  talks  to  chauffeur,  who  is 
tinkering  at  auto-  Howard  tells  him  to  be  a  long  while 
repairing  the  car-  they  exchange  winks-  Howard  hurries 
off  after  Ruth  and  father. 

Leader-  "THE  LORD  HAS  SENT  THEE  TO  ME  THAT  I  MAY  INSTRUCT  THEE 
IN  HIS  WAYS." 

Scene  15-  PARLOR  IN  RUTH'S  HOME  (glimpse  of  dining  room  through 
door-  mother  setting  table). 

Ruth  and  Howard  side  by  side-  she  has  open  Bible-  says 
above  (subtitle)-  begins  to  read  passage  from  Bible- 
Howard  not  much  impressed  with  words  from  Bible,  but  is 
admiring  Ruth-  mother  looks  in  from  other  room-  hears 
Ruth  reading-  smiles  approvingly  and  withdraws. 

Scene  16-  CROSSROADS  (Night). 

(Flash)  Chauffeur  walking  up  and  down  beside  auto-  wait- 
ing impatiently  for  Howard-  looks  at  watch,  etc.-  goes 
towards  house. 


170  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Scene  17-  DINING  ROOM,  RUTH'S  HOME. 

Mother  has  supper  ready-  father  on,  farmwork  finished- 
asks  for  Ruth-  mother  indicates  parlor-  father  frowns,  . 
but  approves  when  mother  tells  him  Ruth  is  reading  Bible 
to  Howard- mother  calls  into;  parlor  that  supper  is  ready- 
Ruth  and  Howard  on-  knock  at  door-  father  off-  on  again 
with  chauffeur,  who  tells  Howard  auto  is  ready-  he  is 
invited  to  sit  at  table-  all  sit  to  supper. 

Leader-  LATER-  RUTH  HAS  FALLEN  IN  LOVE  WITH  HER  PUPIL. 

Scene  19-  DINING  ROOM  IN  RUTH'S  HOME,  9  P.  M. 

Mother  and  father  going  to  bed-  Ruth  sewing-  they  ask  if 
she  isn't  going  to  bed-  she  says  after  she  finishes  her 
sewing-  they  go  off  to  bed-  Ruth  takes  note  from  dress. 

Insert-  NOTE- 

"Dear  Ruth: 

"Marry  me  and  I  will  be  a  good  man.  If  you  refuse 
I  will  go  to  the  devil  and  you  will  be  responsible.  I 
will  be  at  the  crossroads  at  nine  o'clock. 

"HOWARD  CLARK." 

Ruth  struggles  with  her  conscience-  her  love  for  John, 
etc.-  she  decides  that  her  duty  lies  in  saving  Howard's 
soul-  her  face  lights  up-  gets  paper  and  pencil  (or  pen 
and  ink)-  writes  note. 

Insert-  NOTE- 

"Father  and  Mother: 

"I  am  going  to  save  a  man's  soul.  We  shall  be 
married  immediately,  and  when  he  has  accepted  our  faith 
we  will  come  to  see  thee.  RUTH." 

Ruth  leaves  note  on  table-  gets  wraps  and  leaves. 

Scene  19-  CROSSROADS-  (Night) 

(Short  Scene)  Howard  waiting  impatiently  beside  auto- 
sees  Ruth  coming-  Ruth  on-  he  attempts  embrace-  she 
reminds  him  they  are  not  yet  married-  both  get  into  auto- 
chauffeur  drives  auto  off. 

Leader-  NEXT  MORNING. 

Scene  20-  EXTERIOR  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP. 

Very  early  in  the  morning-  John  comes  on  from  gate  of  his 
house-  begins  to  open  up  his  shop-  Ruth's  father  drives 
on  in  wagon  very  much  excited-  gets  out  of  wagon-  tells 
John  of  elopement,  etc.-  shows  him  note. 

Insert-  NOTE-  Same  as  in  scene  18. 

John  staggered-  heartbroken,  etc.-  father  terribly 
angry-  denounces  Ruth-  John  restrains  him. 


COMPLETE  ACTION  171 

Leader-  MARRIED. 

Scene  21-  LIVING  ROOM-  Howard's  Apartments-  door  to  bedroom 
down  right  or  left-  Howard  showing  Ruth  around-  she 
somewhat  aghast  at  richness  of  things-  she  says  so  much 
luxury  is  sinful,  and  he'll  have  to  do  away  with  some 
of  the  pictures,  etc.-  he  takes  her  in  his  arms  and  says 
they'll  talk  about  that  later. 

Scene  22-  INTERIOR  BLACKSMITH  SHOP. 

(Flash)  John  at  his  anvil-  hammering  horseshoe-  stops  and 
looks  off-  grief  on  his  face. 

Leader-  THE  REFORMATION  A  FAILURE. 

Scene  23-  HOWARD'S  APARTMENTS. 

Gay  crowd  of  men  and  women  present-  drinking,  singing, 
etc.-  Howard  down  front  having  a  good  time. 

Scene  24-  BEDROOM  IN  HOWARD'S  APARTMENTS-  Clock  at  11. 

(Flash)  Ruth  discovered  asleep  in  chair,  simple  loose 
gown,  lonesome  and  miserable-  hears  raucous  singing  of 
Howard's  guests-  awakens  her-  puts  hands  to  ears-  decides 
to  call  Howard-  exits. 

Scene  25-  Back  to  23. 

Howard  near  door-  guests  still  singing-  Ruth  on  from 
bedroom  door-  very  timid-  tugs  Howard's  sleeve-  he  an- 
noyed- she  asks  him  to  come  into  bedroom-  he  annoyed,  but 
exits  with  her-  guests  nudge  each  other  and  titter. 

Scene  26-  Back  to  24  (BEDROOM). 

Ruth  and  Howard  on-  she  chides  him  timidly  about  sinful 
festivities-  asks  him  to  dismiss  guests-  (points  to 
clock)-  he  answers  impatiently-  she  picks  up  baby  gar- 
ment and  shows  it  to  him-  it  makes  no  impression- 
Howard  exits-  Ruth  cries. 

Leader-  "IF  YOU  DON'T  LIKE  MY  WAYS,  GO  LIVE  YOUR  OWN." 

Scene  27-  LIVING  ROOM,  HOWARD'S  APARTMENTS. 

Butler  helping  Howard  on  with  overcoat-  butler  off- 
Howard  dressed  for  street-  Ruth  begging  him  to  stay  home- 
he  says  (above  subtitle)-  hurries  out  without  kissing 
Ruth-  she  brokenhearted-  goes  into  bedroom-  on  again 
dressed  for  street-  she  steals  out. 

Scene  28-  EXTERIOR  RUTH'S  HOME. 

Ruth  on,  slowly-  mother  comes  out  of  house,  broom  in  her 
hand-  about  to  sweep  porch  when  she  sees  Ruth-  rushes 
to  her-  helps  her  toward  house-  father  appears  around 
side  of  house-  orders  Ruth  to  leave-  mother  and  Ruth 


172  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

plead,  but  in  vain-  father  says  something  at  which  Ruth 
takes  offence-  she  walks  off  proudly. 

Scene  29-  ROAD  (VICINITY  JOHN'S  SHOP). 
Ruth  walks  slowly-  staggers. 

Scene  30-  INTERIOR  BLACKSMITH  SHOP. 

John  at  work-  looks  out  door-  sees  Ruth-  exits. 

Scene  31-  Back  to  29. 

Rmth  about  to  sink,  exhausted-  John  on-  supports  her  off 
scene. 

Scene  32-  INTERIOR  JOHN1  HOME. 

John's  sister  ironing-  John  brings  Ruth  in-  she  sobs  out 
her  story-  John  asks  where  her  husband  lives-  she  tells- 
sister  helps  her  off  scene-  Jehn  gets  hat  and  coat- 
determines  to  find  Ruth's  husband-  registers  wrath- 
exits. 

Leader-  JOHN  ARRIVES  IN  TOWN. 

Scene  33-  HALLWAY  IN  HOWARD'S  APARTMENTS-  (Camera  close  up  to 
avoid  big  set)  John  wants  to  see  Howard-  servant  tells 
him  to  wait  until  he  asks  Howard-  servant  off-  John 
impatient. 

Scene  34-  LIVING  ROOM,  HOWARD'S  APARTMENTS. 

Another  party  on-  Howard  down  front-  half  soused-  servant 
on-  tells  him  a  Quaker  wants  to  see  him-  Howard  doesn't 
want  to  see  any  Quaker-  servant  off. 

Scene  35-  Back  to  33  (HALLWAY). 

Servant  on-  tells  John  Howard  won't  see  him-  John  angry- 
starts  to  go  in-  servant  interposes-  John  flings  him 
aside  and  exits. 

Scene  36-  (Back  to  34)  LIVING  ROOM. 

John  enters-  guests  stand  still,  etc.-  John  comes  to 
Howard-  proceeds  to  lecture  him-  guests  begin  to  laugh- 
Howard  orders  John  out-  John  looks  Howard  square  in 
the  eye  and  says: 

Cut  in-  "I  AM  GOING  TO  TAKE  THEE  TO  THY  WIFE!" 

John  grabs  Howard-  other  men  going  to  interfere-  servant 
draws  revolver-  John  leaps  on  him  and  takes  it  away  from 
him-  holds  them  all  up  and  forces  Howard  to  exit  with 
him. 

Scene  37-  BEDROOM  IN  JOHN'S  HOME. 

Ruth  in  bed-  Quaker  doctor  in  attendance-  John's  sister 
bustling  about  at  doctor's  orders. 


COMPLETE  ACTION  173 

Scene  38-  EXTERIOR  OF  JOHN'S  HOME  AND  SHOP. 

Doctor's  carriage  standing-  auto  on-  John  pointing  gun 
alternately  at  Howard  and  chauffeur-  John  and  Howard  out 
and  exit  towards  house. 

Scene  39-  KITCHEN,  JOHN'S  HOME. 

John  brings  Howard  in-  Howard  recovering  from  souse- 
bewildered-  John's  sister  on-  all  excited-  stops  sur- 
prised at  sight  of  Howard  and  John-  tells  them  Ruth  has  a 
baby-  Howard  gets  new  look  on  face-  exits  towards  bed- 
room-sister follows  him- 'John  remains-  wistful  look  on 
face,  etc. 

Scene  40-  BEDROOM  IN  JOHN'S  HOME. 

Ruth  and  baby  in  bed-  doctor  ready  to  leave-  Howard  on- 
John's  sister  after  him-  stops  in  background-  Howard 
pulls  transformation  scene-  kneels  at  bed,  cries,  etc.- 
asks  Ruth's  forgiveness-  she  gives  it-  doctor  and  sister 
exit  quietly. 

Leader-  LATER. 

Scene  41-  EXTERIOR  RUTH'S  HOME. 

Howard  and  Ruth  with  baby  in  auto,  bidding  goodby  to 
Ruth's  father  and  mother-  drive  off  and  old  folks  gaze 
after  them. 

Scene  42-  EXTERIOR  BLACKSMITH  SHOP. 

Auto  on  and  stops-  John  on  from  shop-  sister  on  from 
house-  goodbyes-  auto  drives  off-  sister  goes  back  to 
gate-  looking  after  auto-  John  gazing  wistfully  after 
auto-  sighs-  fade  out. 


AUNTIE'S  AFFINITY. 

Lang-Walters  comedy- By  Lawrence  S.  McCloskey. 

Synopsis. 

Ethel  and  her  Aunt  Amanda  live  at  the  Hotel  Borden.  Ethel 
is  in  love  with  Harry,  son  of  the  hotel's  proprietor.  Aunt 
Amanda  forbids  Ethel  to  ride  in  Harry's  auto,  so  one  day  Ethel 
pleads  a  headache  and  Aunt  Amanda  goes  alone  for  her  daily 
walk  in  the  park.  Ethel  steals  off  for  a  spin  in  Harry's  auto. 

Peitro,  the  portly  and  handsome  chef  of  the  hotel,  also 
goes  walking  in  the  park.  He  dresses  well  and  makes  an  impres- 
sion on  Aunt  Amanda  when  he  rescues  her  pocketbook  in  the 
park.  Each  is  ignorant  of  the  other's  identity.  The  two  meet 
often  by  appointment.  Peitro  tells  Aunt  Amanda  that  he  is 
the  Count  of  Montividio,  and  she  believes  him.   He  buys  an 
engagement  ring,  but  loses  it  during  excitement  in  the  kitchen. 


174  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

The  ring  turns  up  in  Ethel's  plum  pudding.  Peitro  is  exposed 
and  discharged.  Aunt  Amanda  is  heartbroken.  During  the  ex- 
citement Ethel  and  Harry  elope. 

But  it  all  turns  out  well  when  when  Peitro  shows  up  with  an 
official  letter  signed  by  the  Italian  Consul,  certifying  that 
Peitro  is  the  really  truly  Count  of  Montividio  and  heir  to  a 
vast  fortune. 

CAST. 

PEITRO  LANGORI  (the  Chef) 

AUNT  AMANDA 

ETHEL 

HARRY 

HARRY'S  FATHER 

Guests,  Bellboys,  Cooks  and  Waiters. 

Scene  Plot 

INTERIORS. 

Hotel  Kitchen-1-6-12-20-22-26-30-32-35. 
Hotel  Office-2-4-7-9-19-28-34-36-37-41. 
Hotel  Dining  Room-3-5-31-33. 
Sitting  Room  (suite)  -8-10-21-27-29-39-42. 

EXTERIORS. 

Front  of  Hotel-11-13-18-38-40. 
Front  of  Jewelry  Store-25. 
First  Park  Scene-14. 
Second  Park  Scene-15. 
Third  Park  Scene-16-17-23-24. 


AUNTIE'S  AFFINITY. 

Lang-Walters  comedy By  Lawrence  S.  McCloskey. 

Leader-  THE  CHEF  OF  THE  HOTEL  BORDEN. 

Scene  1-  KITCHEN  OF  THE  HOTEL  BORDEN-  Well  appointed,  as  becomes 
a  first-class  hotel. 

Peitro,  the  chef,  in  his  white  cap  and  apron,  bossing  a 
number  of  cooks  and  scullions-  in  his  hand  is  a  large 
spoon-  he  tastes  soup  and  other  things  cooking  on  the  big 
range-  some  please  him-  some  do  not-  he  orders  more  salt 
in  some  of  the  pots,  etc.-  makes  cooks  jump  lively,  and 
otherwise  shows  he  is  "boss  around  here." 


COMPLETE  ACTION  175 

Leader-  THE  PROPRIETOR  AND  HIS  SON. 

Scene  2-  OFFICE  AND  LOBBY  OF  HOTEL-  Quiet  but  elegant  atmos- 
phere- elevator  glimpse  of  dining  room. 
Harry  and  his  father  talking  at  counter-  lady  and  gentle- 
man on-  ask  to  look  at  apartments-  father  takes  keys 
from  rack-  conducts  them  to  elevator-  leaves  Harry  in 
charge  of  office-  elevator  door  opens-  Aunt  Amanda  and 
Ethel  on  from  elevator-  father,  lady  and  gent  exit  into 
elevator-  boy  closes  door  and  elevator  ascends-  (light 
worked  behind  door.) 

Cut  in-  ETHEL  AND  HER  AUNT  AMANDA,  WHO  LIVE  AT  THE  HOTEL. 

Ethel  and  Aunt  are  on  their  way  to  the  dining  room  to 
dinner-  Harry's  face  lights  up  at  sight  of  Ethel-  Aunt 
goes  off  towards  dining  room-  motioning  Ethel  to  stop  at 
counter  and  see  if  there's  any  mail-  Ethel  asks  Harry 
for  mail-  she  smiles  very  coyly-  Harry  takes  letter  from 
box-  when  he  hands  it  to  her  he  catches  hold  of  her  hand 
across  the  counter-  retains  it-  she  makes  a  feeble 
attempt  to  escape-  looks  off  to  make  sure  Aunt  Amanda 
has  disappeared-  turns  and  begins  intimate  conversation 
with  Harry-  the  two  heads  get  closer  and  closer. 

Scene  3-  DINING  ROOM,  HOTEL  BORDEN  (Well  filled  with  patrons.) 
(Flash)  Aunt  Amanda  seated  at  table,  wondering  what  can 
be  keeping  Ethel-  waiter  comes  for  order-  Aunt  Amanda 
says  wait-  she'll  have  to  look  for  her  niece-  she  rises 
and  exits  towards  office  impatiently. 

Scene  4-  Back  to  2  (HOTEL  OFFICE). 

Ethel  and  Harry  leaning  over  counter,  gazing  into  each 
other's  eyes-  unconscious  of  everything  but  each  other- 
Aunt  Amanda  on  from  dining  room-  shocked  at  Ethel-  speaks 
and  Ethel  jumps-Aunt  Amanda  scolds  (in  dignified  manner- 
not  farce)  and  tells  Ethel  to  go  into  the  dining  room- 
Ethel  hands  her  letter  and  exits  to  dining  room-  Aunt 
looks  haughty  disapproval  at  Harry-  he  is  respectful  but 
not  apologetic-  tries  to  smooth  the  old  lady-  she  turns 
her  back  and  follows  Ethel  to  the  dining  room  (Other 
guests,  bellboys,  etc.,  pass,  get  into  elevator,  etc., 
during  scene). 

Scene  5-  DINING  ROOM. 

(Flash)  Ethel  and  Aunt  Amanda  enter  from  office-  Aunt 
Amanda  warning  Ethel  not  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
"that  crazy  boy"-  Ethel  says  he  is  fine  young  man,  etc.- 
waiter  comes  for  order-  hands  menu  cards  to  the  ladies- 
they  begin  to  look  them  over. 

Leader-  THE  CHEF'S  BUSY  HOUR. 


176  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Scene  6-  KITCHEN. 

Wild  excitement-  waiters,  cooks,  scullions,  etc.,  dash 
about-  waiters  with  trays  filling  orders  for  dining  room- 
Peitro,  the  chef,  bawling  orders-  waving  spoon-  little 
man  (one  of  the  cooks)  rebels  when  Peitro  tells  him  his 
soup  is  awful,  and  orders  him  to  put  salt  in  it-  cook 
attempts  to  argue  with  Pete-  Pete  takes  him  by  the  scruff 
of  the  neck  and  throws  him  off  scene-  turns  and  orders 
another  man  on  the  soup  job  (no  one  pays  attention  to 
Pete's  scrap  with  the  ejected  cook;  it's  an  everyday 
occurrence,  and  besides  all  are  too  busy  to  notice  others 
troubles). 

Leader-  NEXT  AFTERNOON-  "WILL  YOU  TAKE  A  SPIN  IN  MY  NEW  CAR?" 

Scene  7-  HOTEL  OFFICE  (Camera  close  up). 

(Flash)  Clerk  sorting  letters,  Harry  smiling  and  talking 
over  phone  (asks  the  above  leader). 

Scene  8-  SITTING  ROOM  IN  SUITE  OF  ETHEL  AND  AUNT-  (Glimpse  of 
bedroom). 

(Flash)  Ethel  smiling  and  talking  over  phone  to  Harry- 
says  she'll  try  to  steal  off  somehow  and  meet  him. 

Scene  9-  HOTEL  OFFICE. 

(Flash)  Harry  kisses  Ethel  via  the  phone. 

Scene  10-  SITTING  ROOM. 

Ethel  sends  Harry  a  phone  kiss  and  hangs  up  quickly  as 
she  hears  Aunt  Amanda  coming-  Aunt  on  from  bedroom- 
dressed  for  street-  says  she  is  ready  for  walk-  asks 
Ethel  to  accompany  her-  Ethel  pleads  headache  and  says 
she'd  rather  stay  home  and  lie  down-  Aunt  sympathizes, 
wants  to  stay  and  tend  to  Ethel-  Ethel  says  Aunt  must  not 
deny  herself  her  walk-  she  will  feel  better  after  a 
little  nap-  Aunt  goes  out-  Ethel  quickly  gets  hat  and 
coat,  picks  up  phone  to  tell  Harry  she  will  be  ready  in  a 
moment. 

Scene  11-  EXTERIOR  FRONT  OF  HOTEL. 

(Flash)  Aunt  Amanda  on  from  hotel-  attendant  asks  if  she 
wants  taxi-  no,  thanks,  she'd  rather  walk-  walks  off  up 
street. 

Leader-  THE  CHEF  ALSO  GOES  FOR  A  WALK. 

Scene  12-  KITCHEN. 

The  fires  are  low-  it  is  the  dullest  time  of  the  day  in 
the  kitchen-  only  a  servant  or  two  in  sight-  they  are 
cleaning  and  polishing  up-  Pete  on-  well  dressed-  cane  in 
his  hand-  overcoat  on  arm-  servant  helps  him  on  with 
overcoat-  Pete  scrutinizes  work  of  cleaners-  discovers 
part  of  range  not  polished  properly-  calls  attention  to 


COMPLETE  ACTION  177 

it-  servants  make  haste  to  polish-  Pete  gives  a  few 
directions  and  exits. 

Scene  13-  EXTERIOR  FRONT  OF  HOTEL. 

(Flash)  Harry  cranking  his  auto-  Ethel  on  from  hotel- 
greetings-  they  get  into  auto  and  drive  off. 

Scene  14-  PARK  SCENE  1. 

(Flash)  Aunt  Amanda  on-  walks  across  scene. 

Scene  15-  PARK  SCENE  2. 

(Flash)  Harry  and  Ethel  in  auto  driving  at  breakneck 
speed-  people  exclaim-  park  policeman  runs  on,  shouting 
at  them  to  stop-  tries  to  see  number-  no  use. 

Scene  16-  PARK  SCENE  3. 

Aunt  Amanda,  slightly  fatigued,  sits  on  bench  to  rest- 
Harry  and  Ethel  dash  past  in  auto-  Aunt  Amanda  starts  to 
feet  with  exclamation-  her  pocketbook  falls  to  ground- 
when  she  has  calmed  down  she  tries  to  pick  it  up-  rather 
difficult-  Pete  on,  walking  jauntily-  sees  Aunt  Amanda 
trying  to  get  pocketbook-  comes  gallantly  to  the  rescue- 
he  is  so  stout  he  has  to  get  down  on  his  knees  for  the 
pocketbook,  but  he  gets  it  and  presents  it  with  a  flour- 
ish to  Aunt  Amanda-  she  thanks  him  graciously-  he  is 
encouraged  to  linger  and  remark  the  fine  weather-  she  is 
captivated  by  his  dash  and  courtly  bearing-  pleasant 
conversation  begins. 

Leader-  EACH  IGNORANT  OF  THE  OTHER'S  IDENTITY. 

Scene  17-  Same  as  16  (PARK  SCENE  3) 

Aunt  Amanda  and  Pete  very  good  friends  now-  he  pays  her 
some  compliment-  she  smiles  coyly-  Pete  becomes  real 
kittenish-  Aunt  Amanda  asks  the  time-  Pete  flashes  his 
heavy  gold  watch-  four  o'clock-  Aunt  Amanda  must  be 
going-  won't  Pete  walk  with  her  a  little  way?- 
delighted-  he  offers  his  arm-  she  takes  it  and  they 
walk  off. 

Scene  18-  EXTERIOR  FRONT  OF  HOTEL. 

Pete  and  Aunt  Amanda  on-  he  is  surprised  when  he  learns 
she  lives  at  the  hotel-  won't  he  come  into  the  parlor 
for  a  while?-  Pete  is  afraid  of  being  recognized  by  some 
of  the  employees-  suddenly  looks  at  watch  and  remembers 
an  engagement-  can't  go  in  with  her,  but  will  she  meet 
him  in  the  park  to-morrow?-  same  time  and  place?-  she 
bashfully  promises-  exits  into  hotel-  Pete  off  other  way- 
Harry  and  Ethel  dash  up  in  auto-  Harry  helps  Ethel  to 
alight-  she  is  worried-  whether  Aunt  has  returned 
and  found  her  headache  story  a  fib-  Harry  tells  her  not 
to  worry-  he  calls  attendant-  orders  him  to  take  hie  car 
to  the  garage-  Harry  and  Ethel  exit  into  hotel, 


178  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

Scene  19-  HOTEL  OFFICES. 

Harry's  father  and  clerk  at  counter-  Aunt  Amanda  telling 
father  about  Harry's  reckless  driving-  Harry  and  Ethel 
enter  from  street-  Aunt  Amanda  scolds-  the  young  folks 
defend  themselves-  Aunt  Amanda  declares  she  will  leave 
the  hotel  if  Harry  persists  in  attentions  to  her  niece- 
she  orders  Ethel  into  elevator-  follows  her-  Harry's 
father  begins  to  scold  him. 

Scene  20-  KITCHEN. 

(Short  scene)  Servants  handling  pots  and  pans  in  listless 
fashion-  Pete  on  with  a  rush-  just  putting  on  his  white 
cap  and  apron-  waves  his  arms  commandingly-  seizes  his 
big  spoon-  servants  galvanized  into  instant  action-  when 
all  get  busy-  Pete's  mind  reverts  to  Aunt  Amanda-  he 
heaves  a  ponderous  Italian  sigh-  but  back  to  business 
immediately. 

Leader-  NEXT  AFTERNOON-  AUNT  AMANDA  SENDS  ETHEL  TO  DO  SOME 
SHOPPING. 

Scene  21-  SITTING  ROOM. 

Ethel  dressed  for  street-  Aunt  at  writing  table-  just 
finished  shopping  list-  hands  it  to  Ethel-  but  aren't  you 
coming,  Auntie?-  Auntie  pleads  headache-  says  she's 
going  to  lie  down-  Ethel  says  she'd  better  stay  and  take 
care  of  her,  but  Aunt  reassures  her  and  says  shopping 
is  important-  Ethel  kisses  Aunt  and  exits-  Aunt  Amanda 
immediately  prepares  to  go  out  and  meet  Pete-  acts  kit- 
tenish when  she  thinks  of  the  handsome  gentleman. 

Scene  22-  KITCHEN. 

(Flash)  The  dull  hour  again-  Pete  ready  for  his  walk  and 
his  engagement  with  Aunt  Amanda-  he  gives  a  few  orders  to 
a  servant-  pulls  himself  together  and  exits  jauntily. 

Scene  23-  PARK  SCENE  3  (Same  as  16-17). 

Aunt  Amanda  on-  looks  about  expectantly-  smiles  coyly  as 
she  sees  Pete  coming-  Pete  on  with  flourish-  they  sit  on 
bench-  pleasant  conversation. 

Leader-  "I  AM  HERE  ON  A  SECRET  MISSION-  PROMISE  TO  KEEP  MY  NAME 
A  SECRET." 

Scene  24-  Same  as  23  (PARK  SCENE  3) 

Aunt  Amanda  asks  Pete  for  his  card-  Pete  contemplates- 
finally  pulls  out  card  case  and  with  a  flourish  presents 
his  card-  she  looks  at  it. 

Insert-  Card-          PEITRO  LANGORI 

COUNT  OF  MONTIVIDIO 


COMPLETE  ACTION  179 

Aunt  Amanda  astonished-  "A  Count!"-  Pete  proudly  admits 
that  he  is  no  less-  Aunt  Amanda  very  much  impressed- 
Pete  assumes  air  of  secrecy-  she  promises  to  keep  the 
secret-  but  has  he  really  a  castle?-  Pete  with  weeping 
gestures  tells  of  his  immense  estate  in  sunny  Italy-  she 
listens  and  drinks  in  his  words  worshipfully-  he  takes 
her  hand  and  motions  that  when  he  returns  to  his 
$5,000,000  villa  he'd  like  to  take  her  with  him  as  his 
wife-  Aunt  Amanda  is  overwhelmed  with  the  proposition- 
Peitro  draws  her  head  to  his  manly  shoulder-  she  sighs 
contentedly,  blissfully-  so  does  Peitro. 

Leader-  HE  BUYS  A  RING. 

Scene  25-  EXTERIOR  JEWELRY  STORE  (Camera  close  up). 

Pete  enters  from  store-  ring  box  in  his  hand-  stops  and 
takes  out  ring-  looks  at  it  lovingly-  sighs  soulfully- 
suddenly  remembers  it's  near  dinner  time-  looks  at  watch- 
walks  off  hurriedly. 

Scene  26-  KITCHEN. 

(Flash)  Servants  listless-  Pete  in  street  clothes  comes  in 
with  a  rush-  shouts  orders-  waves  cane-  taking  off  over- 
coat as  he  does  so-  everybody  jumps. 

Scene  27-  SITTING  ROOM. 

(Flash)  Ethel  dressed  for  dinner,  talking  to  Harry  over 
phone-  looks  towards  bedroom  nervously-  afraid  Aunt 
Amanda  will  hear. 

Scene  28-  HOTEL  OFFICE  (Camera  close  up). 

(Flash)  Harry  talking  mushy  and  phoning  kisses  to  Ethel. 

Scene  29-  (Back  to  27)  SITTING  ROOM. 

(Short  scene)  Ethel  sending  kisses  to  Harry  over  phone- 
Aunt  Amanda  on  from  bedroom-  hears  Ethel  at  phone  kissing 
Harry-  speaks  sharply-  Ethel  hastily  hangs  up-  Aunt 
scolds-  tells  her  to  come  down  to  dinner-  both  exit. 

Scene  30-  KITCHEN  (Camera  close  up). 

Peitro  has  ring  and  case  in  his  hand-  he  is  folding  note 
written  on  small  piece  of  paper-  smiles  tenderly-  puts 
ring  in  case-  stuffs  note  in  it  and  closes  case  (cooks 
and  waiters  running  across  background). 

Scene  31-  DINING  ROOM. 

(Flash)  Ethel  and  Aunt  at  their  table-  ordering  dessert. 

Scene  32-  KITCHEN. 

Pete  holding  ring  box  in  hand-  smiling-  servants  bustling 
about-  waiter  in  with  a  rush,  carrying  tray  full  of 
dishes-  collides  with  another  servant-  tray  of  dishes 
crashes  to  floor-  Pete  turns,  throwing  up  his  hands-  the 


180  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

ring  box  flies  from  his  hand  into  a  pot  or  pan  on  range 
(not  important  where  it  drops  so  long  as  it  is  in  the 
direction  of  the  range)-  Pete  holds  up  empty  hands  in 
consternation-  looks  on  floor-  everywhere. 

Cut  in-  THE  RING  IS  LOST. 

But  this  is  no  time  to  look  for  anything,  not  even  diamond 
rings-  dinners  must  be  served-  he  orders  all  back  to 
work,  but  continues  search  himself. 

Scene  33-  DINING  ROOM. 

Ethel  and  Aunt  almost  finished  dinner-  waiter  serving 
dessert  (some  kind  of  pudding)-  Ethel's  spoon  strikes 
something  strange-  she  digs  it  out  of  the  pudding-  "Why 
what's  this?"-  she  wipes  off  the  object  with  her  napkin- 
Aunt  Amanda  curious,  too. 

Insert-  Large  picture,  Ethel's  hands  open  soiled  ring  box, 
takes  out  ring  and  small  crumpled  note. 
(Continue  scene)  Ethel  and  Aunt's  heads  bend  curiously 
over  ring-  Ethel  reads  note-  hands  it  to  Aunt. 

Insert-  NOTE-  On  crumpled  piece  of  paper. 

FROM 
THE  COUNT  OP  MONTIVJDIO 

TO 
HIS  DIVINE  ONE. 

(Continue  scene)  Ethel,  with  ring  and  case  in  hand, 
decides  to  report  the  curious  occurrence  at  the  office- 
rises  and  exits-  Aunt  Amanda  reading  note  for  the  second 
time-  wonder  in  her  eyes-  tries  to  recall  Ethel,  but 
too  late-  rubs  her  eyes  and  reads  again. 

Scene  34-  HOTEL  OFFICE. 

Harry  and  his  father  at  the  counter-  some  guests  just 
leaving  keys-  exit-  Ethel  on  with  ring-  explains-  Harry 
and  father  astonished-  then  angry  to  think  such  a  thing 
could  happen  in  their  kitchen-  father  tells  Harry  to  go 
down  into  the  kitchen  and  find  out  about  it-  Harry  goes 
toward  kitchen  with  ring-  Aunt  Amanda  enters  from  dining 
room-  Ethel  tells  her  to  show  note  that  came  in  ring 
box,  but  Aunt  Amanda  becomes  confused-  holds  note  tight 
and  refuses  to  give  it  up-  Ethel  and  Harry's  father 
wonder. 

Scene  35-  KITCHEN. 

Pete  still  looking  for  the  ring-  Harry  enters  with  ring 
in  his  hand-  speaks-  everybody  stops  work  and  looks  at 
Harry-  he  holds  ring  and  box  in  air-  "Where  did  this 
come  from?"-  Pete  with  an  exclamation  grabs  the  ring- 
then  realizes  he  has  betrayed  himself-  Harry  goes  at  him 


COMPLETE  ACTION  181 

angrily-  "What  do  you  mean  by  trying  to  destroy  our 
trade?"  etc.-  Pete  apologetic,  but  Harry  upbraids  him 
until  Pete  feels  insulted-  retorts  hotly-  goes  for  Harry, 
waving  spoon  in  his  face-  Harry  retreats-  Pete  follows- 
both  continue  scolding  until  off  scene-  the  servants 
watch  open-mouthed. 

Scene  36-  HOTEL  OFFICE. 

Ethel  and  Harry's  father  questioning  Aunt  Amanda  about 
note  which  she  refuses  to  show-  she  is  confused-  they 
hear  Pete  and  Harry  approaching-  Harry  backs  on-  Pete 
follows  on,  talking  loudly  and  gesticulating-  father 
rushes  between  them-  tries  to  restore  order-  Harry  tells 
Pete  dropped  ring  in  pudding-  Pete  tells  Harry  butted 
into  his  kitchen-  Aunt  Amanda  has  been  watching  Pete  with 
bulging  eyes-  she  now  stands  in  front  of  him  and  looks 
into  his  face-  both  are  petrified-  Pete  is  just  forcing  a 
sheepish  smile  when  Aunt  Amanda  keels  over  in  a  dead 
faint-  bellboys,  guests,  etc.,  have  been  attracted  by 
the  excitement-  Harry's  father  tells  Pete  he's  fired- 
Pete  is  now  all  in-  father  leads  him  unresisting  back 
towards  kitchen-  guests  and  attendants  carry  Aunt  Amanda 
to  elevetor-  Ethel  starts  after  them,  but  Harry  pulls 
ber  hack-  elevator  goes  up-  some  people  up-stairs  talking 
it  over. 

Leader-  "NOW'S  OUR  CHANCE-  LET'S  ELOPE  DURING  THE  EXCITEMENT!" 

Scene  37-  Same  as  36  (HOTEL  OFFICE). 

Guests  dispersing-  Harry  says  above  Leader  to  Ethel- 
Ethel  afraid-  she  must  stay  with  her  Aunt-  but  Harry  asks 
"Don't  you  love  me?"-  after  some  hesitation  she  consents 
Harry  gets  his  overcoat  from  behind  (or  under)  counter- 
takes  his  father's  coat  and  wraps  Ethel  in  it-  they 
run  out. 

Scene  38-  EXTERIOR  FRONT  OF  HOTEL  (NIGHT). 

(Flash)  Couple  of  taxis  standing-  Harry  helping  Ethel 
into  his  auto-  speed  off. 

Leader  NEXT  DAY. 

Scene  39-  SITTING  ROOM. 

Aunt  Amanda  rocking  her  body  to  and  fro-  moaning  discon- 
solately- has  Count  of  Montividio's  crumpled  note-  oh,  to 
think  that  he  has  betrayed  her-  the  impostor-  and  where 
was  Ethel?-  everyone  has  gone  back  on  her-  oh!  oh,  oh. 

Scene  40-  EXTERIOR  FRONT  OF  HOTEL. 

Harry  and  Ethel  dash  up  in  auto  (Ethel  still  wearing 
man's  overcoat)-  they  are  very  happy-  about  to  go  into 
hotel  when  Ethel  draws  back-  what  will  her  Aunt  and  his 


isa  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

father  say?-  Harry  is  scared  for  a  moment,  but  plucks  up 
courage  and  leads  Ethel  through  the  door. 

Scene  41-  HOTEL  OFFICE. 

Father  wondering  where  the  devil  his  overcoat  is  and 
where  Harry  and  Ethel  are,  etc.-  Harry  and  Ethel  on  from 
street-  very  timid  and  doubtful-  father  starts  and  sur- 
veys them  sternly-  "Well,  sir!  give  an  account  of  your- 
self!"- Ethel  hangs  head-  Harry  says,  drawing  Ethel  to 
him, 

Cut  in-  "WE'RE  MARRIED." 

Father  stern-  doubtful-  then  he  melts-  wishes  them  joy, 
etc.-  the  next  thing  is  Aunt  Amanda-  they  ask  the  father 
to  come  up  to  see  Aunt  Amanda  with  them-  but  oh,  no, 
not  for  his-  they  can  have  that  pleasure  all  alone-  well, 
it  has  to  be  done-  they  enter  the  elevator  and  it  goes 
up-  Pete  enters,  dressed  in  his  very  best-  he  is  very 
proud-  the  father  is  surprised  to  see  him-  gets  over  the 
surprise  and  orders  Pete  out-  he's  a  discharged  chef- 
but  Pete,  with  proud  gesture,  produces  a  letter,  which 
he  hands  father-  father  reads  with  increasing  surprise- 
it  has  a  peculiar  effect  on  him-  he  looks  up  at  Pete  with 
a  new  expression-  Pete  says  he  wants  to  go  upstairs  and 
see  Aunt  Amanda-  father  hesitates  just  a  moment-  then 
conducts  Pete  to  elevator-  both  go  up  in  elevator. 

Scene  42-  SITTING  ROOM. 

Harry  and  Ethel  are  pleading  with  Aunt  Amanda  to  stop 
crying  and  forgive  them-  she  is  inconsolable  for  some 
reason-  they  don't  understand-  Harry  hears  a  knock  on  the 
door-  opens  it-  Pete  and  father  enter-  surprise-  Pete 
touches  Aunt  Amanda  on  the  shoulder  and  speaks-  she 
starts  up-  then  back-  he  holds  his  arms  for  her-  she  begins 
to  upbraid  him-  he  produces  the  same  letter  that  he 
showed  to  father-  hands  it  to  Aunt-  she  reads,  and  while 
she  reads  Pete  produces  documents  with  large  seals- 
hands  them  around. 

Insert-  LETTER. 

ITALIAN  CONSULATE, 

Philadelphia. 

This  is  to  certify  that  the  bearer,  Peitro  Langori,  is 
the  real  COUNT  OF  MONTIVIDIO.  Owing  to  lack  of  funds,  he 
has  been  working  as  chef;  but  he  will  soon  fall  heir  to 
an  estate  worth  over  $1,000,000. 

(Signed)         ANTONIO  CARDUCCI, 

Italian  Consul . 

(Continue  scene)  Aunt  Amanda  takes  some  time  to  realize 
that  things  have  broken  just  right-  but  she  is  soon  in 
the  arms  of  the  royal  chef-  she  forgives  everybody. 


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